Promo history - volume 52.
"The Morning After the Night Before" (March 28th, 2021).
Michelle von Horrowitz and Gerald Grayson def. The New Breed [Tornado Tag Team Match] (FWA: Fight Night - Lost Treasures).
"The Morning After the Night Before" (March 28th, 2021).
Michelle von Horrowitz and Gerald Grayson def. The New Breed [Tornado Tag Team Match] (FWA: Fight Night - Lost Treasures).
GERALD GRAYSON and MICHELLE von HORROWITZ
in
“THE MORNING AFTER THE NIGHT BEFORE.”
in
“THE MORNING AFTER THE NIGHT BEFORE.”
*** She was cold, naked, and seemingly underground, the damp earth underneath her and above her and all around her. She blindly grasped around herself, and found that she was in either a hole or a tunnel. The ground beneath her was uneven and seemed to slope upwards in the direction that she assumed - for no reason in-particular - was north. Behind her, the passage was blocked, and without question she began to climb through the only passage that was available to her. At first, the movement was difficult, the space claustrophobic, and the air heavy and thick to the point where it clogged her lungs. Michelle von Horrowitz was not a woman who usually shunned solitude, or had any real problem with the idea of being left alone with just her internal monologue for company. The scratching and the clawing and the gnawing of the coarse earth against her soft, pale skin, though, drove any thoughts other than those surrounding an eventual escape straight from her mind. In the distance, she could see a source of light: a series of candles that lined the walls on either side. It was also clear that the tunnel’s diameter was increasing. The moment in which she could stand up with her hands extended either side of her did not bring with it the comfort that she had hoped for (but never really expected). She had the curious and disagreeable sense that she was trapped in a clumsy and obvious metaphor. At first, her only company in the darkness were rodents and roaches, unseen but felt as she crawled her way through the narrow opening. Now, with the twinned false-comforts (verging on discomfort) of increased breathing space and visibility, her companions were of a less innocuous and more human form. Glimpses were all that she was given: glimpses of a shadow walking a handful of metres ahead of her, disappearing behind corners as she attempted to narrow her eyes and force him into focus. But the manner in which the golden crown atop his head gleamed in the candlelight was unmistakable. Eventually, the tunnel transformed into a grand corridor with marble floors, heavy velour curtains, numerous paintings, a handful of sculptures, various houseplants, stain-glass windows, hanging chandeliers, and attendants who provided her with items of clothing with which to conceal her modesty. And still the crowned shadow went a few steps ahead. The changes in her environment, she knew, were rather drastic, but she couldn’t put her finger on the exact moment that she had escaped the hole and entered the palace. Somehow, she felt more at ease whilst clawing around in the dirt. She reached the end of the corridor and found herself in front of a heavy set of double doors. She immediately turned the handle, swinging them wide open and emerging into a large clearing. It was night, and the black sky above was speckled with bright blue stars that danced heel and toe to an irregular beat. It would’ve been a comforting and beautiful sight, if it wasn’t for the large cage that she found herself stood within. She walked up to its perimeter, running her hand along the meshing, breaching the skin against a poorly soldered joint and watching a thin trickle of blood run down her left index finger. The crowned king was nowhere to be found. She wondered if he had ever been here. Behind her, stirring her to attention and forcing her to turn on her heel, the door that she had left open slammed shut. A second shadow walked into the cage, the three remaining fingers on his right hand clasping, at his side, a lead pipe. *** |
She awoke and wished she hadn’t. The sun - the fucking sun - was as bold as ever, an obnoxious smile plastered on its fat, yellow face as it insisted the world wake up and pay it some mind. Michelle begrudgingly rolled over and - in an attempt to get a view of the time - pushed an empty bottle of Jamesons and a full ashtray from the bed-side table, recoiling at the overpowering clunk that sounded when they hit the ground. It was only midday. She smiled to herself, safe in the knowledge that nothing even remotely interesting would be happening anywhere at this longitude for at least eight hours. She rolled away from the window, issued a silent fuck you to the sun, and tightly closed her eyes.
When a crashing noise emanated from the other room, she lamented that it was impossible to close her ears as well. There were several things that confused her about this noise:
1. Who else was there?
2. Why weren’t they in this room?
3. Why was there more than one room?
None of these questions were immediately answerable, and so she elected to ignore the unwanted, ambiguous presence as best she could. Unfortunately, her best quickly proved far short of good enough, and a second crash was followed by the sound of a hasty vertical correction and then a heavy series of knocks on her door.
...if you don’t reply, they will fuck off...
Another series of knocks, heavier and louder and longer.
“I am not replying,” she said, wriggling on the bed so that her head (the brain within which was rapidly and irreversibly turning into a painful mush) found its way under a pillow. She pinned it down on either side of her head with her hands, her voice now muffled by the feather-stuffed barricade. “I want you to fuck off.”
“Michelle,” the voice said, immediately recognisable and full of concern. Gerald. “My head… it’s… I think I’m dying.”
She let out a deep sigh, and - with all the regret of a world-weary soul accepting the reality of another day - removed her head from beneath the pillow. She double-checked that she was still wearing last night’s clothes, and then busied herself in sitting up.
“Come in, Gerald,” she said, pushing her hair out of her eyes and resting her head against the board behind her. “I’m decent.”
The door slowly opened, and in came a dishevelled apparition of her friend and tag team partner. He looked nothing like the boy wonder persona he had carefully cultivated over the past year. Under his eyes was a dark tint, and on the corner of his mouth a speckle of white, ostensibly dried saliva left over from his slumber. His eyes fought a losing battle against the sun.
“Michelle…” he began, sitting - in a slow and quite painful manner - on the floor. His back was propped against the door that he’d closed behind him. “I slept in my shoes.”
She looked over towards the window and the pair of Vans that she had left, for some reason, on the sill. At least she’d managed to get them off. One-nil.
“What happened last night?” Gerald asked, scratching his head at the enormity of the question. He decided on a simpler (but still quite difficult) one. “Where are we?!”
“I have no fucking clue,” she said, looking around herself at the room she was in. It was clearly a hotel room, but the tasteful decor and general cleanliness of the place was alien to her. “This isn’t my room. It’s not yours?”
“I woke up out there, on the couch,” Gerald answered. Michelle’s eyes widened. It had a couch?! “It’s already midday. We should get ready. We’ve probably missed check out, wherever we are.”
“You worry about the strangest things,” Michelle said, pushing the covers away from her body and placing her feet unsteadily on the ground. She looked at her shoes, just a couple of meters away, and mustered the courage to retrieve them. The Carnal Contendership was easier. As she climbed to a vertical base, Gerald was busy going the opposite way. At first, he sealed his eyes tightly, and then slid down the door until he was laid in the foetal position upon the carpet, all-the-while letting out a low, guttural groan. Michelle looked at him, some semblance of sympathy stirred up by the sorry sight, and then busied herself in putting on her shoes. When she’d got her foot in the right one and planted it on the ground, she once more beheld the empty bottle that lay next to it. “We’re out of whiskey.”
Gerald’s face scrunched up into an angry little ball, his hands cradling his stomach as if to quell its bubbling.
“Please don’t talk about whiskey…”
And then it began to come back to him…
… … …
She stood outside the Memphis bar, eyeing up the bouncers that guarded its entrance like a pair of greedy trolls under a bridge. Gerald stood a few metres to her right, leant against the barricade that separated the road and the river and staring at its surface. She had just sparked a cigarette and regarded the doormen warily, as if she didn’t feel such responsibility should be given to two men of such self-evidently low calibre. They had spoken to her (and were now speaking to all the other revellers) through a series of grunts, and just now, whilst they considered themselves unobserved, they engaged in the scratching of various itches, the picking of various orifices, and the sort of general uncouth behaviour not becoming of those in a customer-facing role. Michelle shook her head and turned away, staring over the Mississippi river and continuing to smoke her cigarette.
It was just then that two familiar faces - one masked and the other unmasked - strode into view from her left hand side. The handsome man was smiling, making good on his promise to meet them at the bar - Climax, it was rather tackily called - provided they went on ahead and got the champagne cold. He nodded at Gerald and heartily slapped her on the back as he approached, as if in some symbol of affirmation or comradery, and then took out a cigarette of his own. Donny stood a few metres away, his hands in his pockets, and his eyes never straying from Michelle. A slight hesitancy in his voice, he addressed the Dutch woman in front of him.
“Michelle von Horrowitz…” Danny laughed aloud and cast a cursory glance in Donny’s direction. With an arched eyebrow, he enquired about his brother's stiffness. “You got a pole up your ass or somethin’ Donny? Loosen up, this is MvH! The Carnal Contender! Or didn’t you know?”
Donny looked as if he was about to say something, but his brother - thanks to a lively few hours in the lead up to him coming here - animatedly beat him to it.
“Nawh, nawh, nawh! This is Michelle von Horrowitz. She ain’t just the Carnal Contender, nah... you ask me and I’ll say she’s the God-damn saviour of the FWA! We should be thanking her! She’s gonna end Sulley’s reign …”
Danny flung his arm over MvH’s shoulder.
“... and look damn good doing it!”
Michelle shrugged Danny’s arm away, but not without affording him a wry smile. Danny and Gerald shared a laugh, the former lighting a cigarette as he expelled his myrth. Danny seemed in a good mood and looked set to celebrate: Michelle, of course, was not the only one experiencing some good fortune in the FWA recently. Indeed, it had only been a fortnight since Danny and his brother Donny captured the FWA World Tag Team Championships at Desert Storm. To look at Danny; you’d think he’d only just won the championships prior to arriving at Climax (the bar they were in, incase you've forgotten). But Donny … Donny seemed distant in the presence of Michelle, as if his mind was elsewhere. Reinforcement of Michelle’s thoughts came but a second later when Donny cleared his throat.
“Shit, you know what, guys? I just remembered I’ve got to sort something out with Princeton. I’mma have to take off... but I’ll see you back at mine Danny, alright? Enjoy your night.”
Donny waved away any forthcoming protests from his twin brother and instead turned his attention towards Michelle.
“Congratulations on your win. I know what that must mean to you...”
Turning abruptly on his heel, the masked champion strode into the night, leaving our would-be quartet as a troublesome threesome. Danny seemed miffed but managed to muster up a Cheshire-like grin and face his companions with a devilish glint in his eye.
“Look... I don’t know what’s crawled up Don but I’d say we gotta bit of celebrating to do! Dreamer … GG … as the only current champion … I guess the shots are on me!”
Michelle nodded in approval. Grayson had his reservations.
“Shots? How about a couple of light beers...”
It would take a very stupid person to step to either Michelle or Danny after seeing the simultaneous glares they shot the well-meaning former X Champion. Grayson, undeniably brave but certainly not stupid, meekly smiled and half-heartedly raised both his thumbs before making an unsure suggestion.
“Uhhh, I mean … three tequila, por favor?”
Danny roared in approval and slapped Gerald on the back. Michelle simply shook her head and led the two closest approximations to friends she had back into the bar.
“So, your brother…” Michelle began after they had sat down at their booth. A third champagne flute was brought over for Danny to share in the revelry, and he ordered a Long Island Iced Tea alongside Gerald’s three tequilas. “Guess he’s not really one for breaking the ice…”
“How’d you mean?” Danny asked, pouring himself a flute and enjoying a mouthful.
“Well, just now,” she answered. It was clear she was weighing her words carefully, and she emptied her Heienken before continuing. “We might not be the best of friends, but we’ve met before. I was very grateful for his help, and yours, with The New Breed, when Gerald couldn’t offer his. He acted like we were strangers, and yet as if he knows me… Like, really knows me.”
“He was just congratulating you,” Danny offered, waving her off dismissively. “Learn to take a positive.”
“What did he mean: I know how much this must mean to you?”
“It’s the Carnal Contendership, Michelle!” Gerald offered, picking up his Coors Light and staring over the railing onto the dance floor. He seemed almost entranced by the flashing lights. “This would mean the world to anyone. Stop analysing every little thing people say to you...”
“Listen to your partner,” Toner said, just as his cocktail arrived. He lifted it up and nodded at Gerald.
“Speaking of the Carnal Contendership...” Michelle began, leaning forward and staring over the top of her glass at Danny. There was mischief in her eyes, and she was smiling. “You promised me you’d still be in there by the time I arrived. What happened?”
“I held up my end,” Gerald offered, turning to join in on Danny. He took a seat next to the tag team champion and waved at a passing waitress to replenish his drink. The tequila arrived, and two out of three immediately lifted theirs up. Gerald hesitated.
“And I suggest you hold up your end now, pal! DRINK!”
Gerald sighed and resigned himself to his fate. He took a deep breath and lifted his shot in the air as two became three. They each nodded in turn, and then knocked them back in unison. Danny and Michelle slammed their shot glasses down at the same time, neither making a sound. Gerald, to his credit, grimaced and gurned but managed to contain his displeasure to a slight throat-clear. Danny threw his hand up in the air and grabbed a waitress's attention...
“Nine more!”
Gerald’s eyes bulged out of his head.
“Nine more?!”
Danny nodded furtively (but assertively) in response. Michelle merely shrugged, willing to see where this tangent would take her, and watched on passively as Gerald continued his attempts to dissuade his drinking buddies.
“Doesn’t that seem … excessive?”
“Nawh… we’re gonna play a little game.”
This time Danny’s answer succeeded in eliciting a response from Michelle.
“A game?”
“Yeah, a game. It’s simple. Everyone take three.”
As soon as the waitress set the obnoxiously large order down on the table, Michelle pulled her three shots over before motioning for Gerald to do the same.
“Right: so we get to ask you a question, any question we want. You don’t have to answer but if you don’t, you’ve gotta do a shot. We’ll keep asking ‘til you answer, aight?”
Gerald seemed prepared to protest, but Michelle butted in for him.
”I don’t play drinking games.”
Danny was undeterred.
“Ah, I had a feeling you’d say something like that!” he started, picking up his cocktail once more and finishing the remnants. “Now, just remember what happened earlier tonight. If it wasn’t for young Gerald here, those jackals would’ve bounced you from the ring before Mike Parr even arrived. I say it’s up to Gerald.”
Michelle shrugged in acquiesce. Gerald, somewhat enjoying her squirming, motioned onwards for Danny to start the game. Michelle took a hearty swig from her bottle of beer and smiled at Danny.
“But you go first.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
The three inch closer together as Michelle muses over what question she will ask Danny. It strikes her that there is a couple of things she wouldn’t mind asking. Tsushima. What was Danny’s connection there? Perhaps a more simple approach was the most beneficial. Why had he insisted on getting involved in her life? Hell, what the fuck was the deal with Donny?! Just as the future Back in Business main-eventer was about to ask her question, Grayson beat her to the punch.
“Do you think Michelle would’ve won the Carnal Contendership if you had stayed in it until she entered?”
Damn. A swift and sudden silence fell over Danny, unbecoming for a man of his verbal tendencies (not to mention abilities).
“Uh, I, uh… I don’t quite get the question?”
Michelle came forward, leaning her face closer to Danny’s and speaking in a slow and deliberate manner.
“It was simple enough, handsome: do you think I would have won if you had an opportunity to stop me?”
Danny held Michelle’s gaze for a second before throwing a damning look in Gerald's direction. Danny tried to speak but quickly faltered. His head sunk, a thin and hollow laugh emanating from his lips.
“Sunk at my own game in the first round.”
He picked up a shot glass and downed the tequila before looking at MvH.
“How interesting,” Michelle leant back in her chair and winked at Danny. “Good to know. You would rather say nothing than have to answer truthfully. You’re too charming to get a true gauge of... but it appears, like everyone else, that you just - -”
“Don’t we get another question?”
Grayson smiled merrily whilst filling up another flute of champagne. It appeared that the blue-collar hero had quite gotten into the swing of things. Michelle looked at Danny.
”It’s my turn,” she said, looking from the handsome man to the two tequilas sitting in front of him. ”How long do you have left?”
Danny seemed taken aback. He blinked twice, and then picked up his drink. A champagne, not a tequila.
”How do you mean?”
”Back in Business is in… what is it… May? I watch you each week, and I’m never really sure which one will be your last. I don’t want it to be, but I wonder what happens to this Toner when the other takes his mask off. Unless Saint Sulley really is divine, I will take his championship from him in Paris. I want to know if you will be in the chasing pack.”
Once again, Danny grinned widely, and without answering he drank his second. There was a lull in the conversation, and Michelle nervously rotated one of her three full shot glasses with the fingers of her right hand.
”There isn’t enough drinking in this game,” Michelle declared, lifting one of the tequilas and giving herself a head start (or a handicap, depending on your perspective). ”Okay, Gerald’s turn. I have a question. What did you really think when you read the pairings for The Elite Tag Team Classic?”
“That’s your question? Easy. I was a scared little duck,” he said, with the utmost clarity and confidence. “Why wouldn’t I be? With how hot headed you were back then, who knows what you would’ve done to me. I just took your title after you were attacked backstage. If I was you, I’d hate me as a tag team partner. See me as more of a liability than an asset to be honest. Probably throw the match to make me get what’s coming to me.”
A quick sigh of relief left Gerald’s lips as he didn’t need to take a drink. In the meantime, their waitress arrived with another round of beers, and whilst she was at the table she passed a note to Michelle. She turned it over in her hand, and then - somewhat warily - opened it up.
It was just then that two familiar faces - one masked and the other unmasked - strode into view from her left hand side. The handsome man was smiling, making good on his promise to meet them at the bar - Climax, it was rather tackily called - provided they went on ahead and got the champagne cold. He nodded at Gerald and heartily slapped her on the back as he approached, as if in some symbol of affirmation or comradery, and then took out a cigarette of his own. Donny stood a few metres away, his hands in his pockets, and his eyes never straying from Michelle. A slight hesitancy in his voice, he addressed the Dutch woman in front of him.
“Michelle von Horrowitz…” Danny laughed aloud and cast a cursory glance in Donny’s direction. With an arched eyebrow, he enquired about his brother's stiffness. “You got a pole up your ass or somethin’ Donny? Loosen up, this is MvH! The Carnal Contender! Or didn’t you know?”
Donny looked as if he was about to say something, but his brother - thanks to a lively few hours in the lead up to him coming here - animatedly beat him to it.
“Nawh, nawh, nawh! This is Michelle von Horrowitz. She ain’t just the Carnal Contender, nah... you ask me and I’ll say she’s the God-damn saviour of the FWA! We should be thanking her! She’s gonna end Sulley’s reign …”
Danny flung his arm over MvH’s shoulder.
“... and look damn good doing it!”
Michelle shrugged Danny’s arm away, but not without affording him a wry smile. Danny and Gerald shared a laugh, the former lighting a cigarette as he expelled his myrth. Danny seemed in a good mood and looked set to celebrate: Michelle, of course, was not the only one experiencing some good fortune in the FWA recently. Indeed, it had only been a fortnight since Danny and his brother Donny captured the FWA World Tag Team Championships at Desert Storm. To look at Danny; you’d think he’d only just won the championships prior to arriving at Climax (the bar they were in, incase you've forgotten). But Donny … Donny seemed distant in the presence of Michelle, as if his mind was elsewhere. Reinforcement of Michelle’s thoughts came but a second later when Donny cleared his throat.
“Shit, you know what, guys? I just remembered I’ve got to sort something out with Princeton. I’mma have to take off... but I’ll see you back at mine Danny, alright? Enjoy your night.”
Donny waved away any forthcoming protests from his twin brother and instead turned his attention towards Michelle.
“Congratulations on your win. I know what that must mean to you...”
Turning abruptly on his heel, the masked champion strode into the night, leaving our would-be quartet as a troublesome threesome. Danny seemed miffed but managed to muster up a Cheshire-like grin and face his companions with a devilish glint in his eye.
“Look... I don’t know what’s crawled up Don but I’d say we gotta bit of celebrating to do! Dreamer … GG … as the only current champion … I guess the shots are on me!”
Michelle nodded in approval. Grayson had his reservations.
“Shots? How about a couple of light beers...”
It would take a very stupid person to step to either Michelle or Danny after seeing the simultaneous glares they shot the well-meaning former X Champion. Grayson, undeniably brave but certainly not stupid, meekly smiled and half-heartedly raised both his thumbs before making an unsure suggestion.
“Uhhh, I mean … three tequila, por favor?”
Danny roared in approval and slapped Gerald on the back. Michelle simply shook her head and led the two closest approximations to friends she had back into the bar.
“So, your brother…” Michelle began after they had sat down at their booth. A third champagne flute was brought over for Danny to share in the revelry, and he ordered a Long Island Iced Tea alongside Gerald’s three tequilas. “Guess he’s not really one for breaking the ice…”
“How’d you mean?” Danny asked, pouring himself a flute and enjoying a mouthful.
“Well, just now,” she answered. It was clear she was weighing her words carefully, and she emptied her Heienken before continuing. “We might not be the best of friends, but we’ve met before. I was very grateful for his help, and yours, with The New Breed, when Gerald couldn’t offer his. He acted like we were strangers, and yet as if he knows me… Like, really knows me.”
“He was just congratulating you,” Danny offered, waving her off dismissively. “Learn to take a positive.”
“What did he mean: I know how much this must mean to you?”
“It’s the Carnal Contendership, Michelle!” Gerald offered, picking up his Coors Light and staring over the railing onto the dance floor. He seemed almost entranced by the flashing lights. “This would mean the world to anyone. Stop analysing every little thing people say to you...”
“Listen to your partner,” Toner said, just as his cocktail arrived. He lifted it up and nodded at Gerald.
“Speaking of the Carnal Contendership...” Michelle began, leaning forward and staring over the top of her glass at Danny. There was mischief in her eyes, and she was smiling. “You promised me you’d still be in there by the time I arrived. What happened?”
“I held up my end,” Gerald offered, turning to join in on Danny. He took a seat next to the tag team champion and waved at a passing waitress to replenish his drink. The tequila arrived, and two out of three immediately lifted theirs up. Gerald hesitated.
“And I suggest you hold up your end now, pal! DRINK!”
Gerald sighed and resigned himself to his fate. He took a deep breath and lifted his shot in the air as two became three. They each nodded in turn, and then knocked them back in unison. Danny and Michelle slammed their shot glasses down at the same time, neither making a sound. Gerald, to his credit, grimaced and gurned but managed to contain his displeasure to a slight throat-clear. Danny threw his hand up in the air and grabbed a waitress's attention...
“Nine more!”
Gerald’s eyes bulged out of his head.
“Nine more?!”
Danny nodded furtively (but assertively) in response. Michelle merely shrugged, willing to see where this tangent would take her, and watched on passively as Gerald continued his attempts to dissuade his drinking buddies.
“Doesn’t that seem … excessive?”
“Nawh… we’re gonna play a little game.”
This time Danny’s answer succeeded in eliciting a response from Michelle.
“A game?”
“Yeah, a game. It’s simple. Everyone take three.”
As soon as the waitress set the obnoxiously large order down on the table, Michelle pulled her three shots over before motioning for Gerald to do the same.
“Right: so we get to ask you a question, any question we want. You don’t have to answer but if you don’t, you’ve gotta do a shot. We’ll keep asking ‘til you answer, aight?”
Gerald seemed prepared to protest, but Michelle butted in for him.
”I don’t play drinking games.”
Danny was undeterred.
“Ah, I had a feeling you’d say something like that!” he started, picking up his cocktail once more and finishing the remnants. “Now, just remember what happened earlier tonight. If it wasn’t for young Gerald here, those jackals would’ve bounced you from the ring before Mike Parr even arrived. I say it’s up to Gerald.”
Michelle shrugged in acquiesce. Gerald, somewhat enjoying her squirming, motioned onwards for Danny to start the game. Michelle took a hearty swig from her bottle of beer and smiled at Danny.
“But you go first.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
The three inch closer together as Michelle muses over what question she will ask Danny. It strikes her that there is a couple of things she wouldn’t mind asking. Tsushima. What was Danny’s connection there? Perhaps a more simple approach was the most beneficial. Why had he insisted on getting involved in her life? Hell, what the fuck was the deal with Donny?! Just as the future Back in Business main-eventer was about to ask her question, Grayson beat her to the punch.
“Do you think Michelle would’ve won the Carnal Contendership if you had stayed in it until she entered?”
Damn. A swift and sudden silence fell over Danny, unbecoming for a man of his verbal tendencies (not to mention abilities).
“Uh, I, uh… I don’t quite get the question?”
Michelle came forward, leaning her face closer to Danny’s and speaking in a slow and deliberate manner.
“It was simple enough, handsome: do you think I would have won if you had an opportunity to stop me?”
Danny held Michelle’s gaze for a second before throwing a damning look in Gerald's direction. Danny tried to speak but quickly faltered. His head sunk, a thin and hollow laugh emanating from his lips.
“Sunk at my own game in the first round.”
He picked up a shot glass and downed the tequila before looking at MvH.
“How interesting,” Michelle leant back in her chair and winked at Danny. “Good to know. You would rather say nothing than have to answer truthfully. You’re too charming to get a true gauge of... but it appears, like everyone else, that you just - -”
“Don’t we get another question?”
Grayson smiled merrily whilst filling up another flute of champagne. It appeared that the blue-collar hero had quite gotten into the swing of things. Michelle looked at Danny.
”It’s my turn,” she said, looking from the handsome man to the two tequilas sitting in front of him. ”How long do you have left?”
Danny seemed taken aback. He blinked twice, and then picked up his drink. A champagne, not a tequila.
”How do you mean?”
”Back in Business is in… what is it… May? I watch you each week, and I’m never really sure which one will be your last. I don’t want it to be, but I wonder what happens to this Toner when the other takes his mask off. Unless Saint Sulley really is divine, I will take his championship from him in Paris. I want to know if you will be in the chasing pack.”
Once again, Danny grinned widely, and without answering he drank his second. There was a lull in the conversation, and Michelle nervously rotated one of her three full shot glasses with the fingers of her right hand.
”There isn’t enough drinking in this game,” Michelle declared, lifting one of the tequilas and giving herself a head start (or a handicap, depending on your perspective). ”Okay, Gerald’s turn. I have a question. What did you really think when you read the pairings for The Elite Tag Team Classic?”
“That’s your question? Easy. I was a scared little duck,” he said, with the utmost clarity and confidence. “Why wouldn’t I be? With how hot headed you were back then, who knows what you would’ve done to me. I just took your title after you were attacked backstage. If I was you, I’d hate me as a tag team partner. See me as more of a liability than an asset to be honest. Probably throw the match to make me get what’s coming to me.”
A quick sigh of relief left Gerald’s lips as he didn’t need to take a drink. In the meantime, their waitress arrived with another round of beers, and whilst she was at the table she passed a note to Michelle. She turned it over in her hand, and then - somewhat warily - opened it up.
|
|
She closed the note over again, and noticed that both Gerald and Toner were staring at her above it. Wary of their gaze, she placed it into her pocket and took a long pull from her drink: a silent toast.
"Here's one," Danny started, picking up the conversational slack. "What about the night Michelle was attacked? You must have been thanking all sorts of different Gods..."
Gerald's eyes widened at the question. Michelle cocked an eyebrow. She was as interested in the response as Danny.
"I think... if it was anyone else, they'd relish the opportunity. Some would say there aren't enough lucky stars to thank. But, for me, it was the complete opposite. I felt a bit like a fake, you know? A charlatan, sort of. I felt undeserving of the title I'd just one. Sure, I got one title defense in after defeating Eli Black, but did I do anything to elevate the title? I don't think so..." he said, his eyes drifting to the floor. "In fact, undeserving is the perfect word for my entire X-Division title reign. Having this ingrained in my head messed with my psyche all this time. But I've come to terms with it."
He looked back up, towards Michelle, attempting to ascertain if she agreed that his feelings were valid on that point. She didn't give anything away. Her mind was pre-occupied by concern for her tag team partner. He'd always been somewhat self-deprecating, but things had worsened since they'd lost the tournament final. She didn't expect the immediate irony of the question that followed...
“Why are you so hard on yourself?” Gerald questioned with curiosity filling those big, dark brown eyes. After remembering the game that they were playing, she considered asking him the same question straight back, but - given what he’d been through the last three weeks - she didn’t know if now was quite the time for introspection. She would broach the subject later, but for now she’d deflect.
“Because I’m the worst, Gerald.”
Gerald had his next question lined up and ready to go.
“Why are you friends with me?” as a smile crept up on his face.
“That’s two questions, tulip.”
“And you have two shots left,” Toner put in. “I’ll allow it.”
Michelle rolled her eyes.
“Because you’re the best, Gerald.”
Gerald tilted his head before looking at Danny.
“Those don’t sound like responses to me, Danny. More like evasion. What do you think?” Gerald took one of his shot glasses and put it in front of Michelle, knowing full well what Danny’s response would be.
“Drink!”
“Okay, here’s one,” Michelle began, shortly after finishing her tequila and rounding on Danny. “I want to know about Donny. What’s behind the mask? Is he actually your brother?”
Danny looked at one of the several drinks he had in front of them, and then at Michelle.
“Yes,” he nodded. “He’s my brother.”
“Like… as a metaphor for something?”
“Not everything’s a metaphor for something.”
An hour later, the three of them sat with twelve shot glasses, three champagne flutes, a bottle in an ice bucket, a two-thirds drunk bottle of Jameson’s, a dozen beer bottles, and six cocktail glasses arrayed upon the large table at their booth. All of the receptacles (save the dregs of the Whiskey) were empty, and Michelle caught the waitress’ eye and pointed at the ice bucket, asking for reinforcements to be summoned.
“Who do you think they’ll put you up against next?” Gerald asked, tearing the corners of a place mat and staring down at nothing in-particular. The alcohol was blurring his vision, and the ends of his fingers felt strange.
“I think they probably won’t book me,” Michelle said, leaning back on the long couch and draining her champagne flute. The bottle was still empty, and Danny was doubling up on Michelle’s order. “If I’m lucky they’ll give me that Kleio girl, I guess. Or Ty Kujo again. If he’s still around, that is. Did you hear the CWA turned him down?”
“You don’t think it’ll be Parr?” Gerald mused.
“I doubt it,” she answered. “Although, a girl can hope. I don’t feel like that particular episode is finished. But I’m not this lucky.”
“It’s not about luck,” Danny said, with a scoff. “Michelle: you just won the Carnal Contendership! If you want a match next week, ask for one.”
Michelle thought about the proposition for a moment. Even if she didn’t exactly hold all the cards (yet), at least now she had some of them in her hand.
“Who will you ask for?” Gerald asked. He was tapping the surface of the glass table with an idle forefinger. “Parr?”
“Not yet,” Michelle said, watching the waitress pop the cork from a fresh bottle. She poured the champagne into the flutes, and immediately the three took their glasses up. “The New Breed, I think. The monkeys still need dealing with. The organ grinder can wait.”
“You just say the word if you need me… and I’ll be there,” Gerald insisted, with a nod towards Michelle.
She knew that this would be his response. And to be honest, this time she hoped it would be. She remembered, of course, the letter she’d written to Gerald, asking for some space following the tag team tournament. Space, ostensibly, to deal with her problems on her own. But her problems had only multiplied, and the straight line she’d hoped to rule off beneath them had never materialised. She looked from Danny to Gerald, and then back to Danny, as if reminding herself that she had people she could rely on now. The Carnal Contendership had proved that. Gerald was a good man, and there was no reason to turn her back on him.
“I need you,” she said. Just then, the waitress - misinterpreting Michelle’s cryptic points and nods - arrived with another nine shots of tequila.
"Here's one," Danny started, picking up the conversational slack. "What about the night Michelle was attacked? You must have been thanking all sorts of different Gods..."
Gerald's eyes widened at the question. Michelle cocked an eyebrow. She was as interested in the response as Danny.
"I think... if it was anyone else, they'd relish the opportunity. Some would say there aren't enough lucky stars to thank. But, for me, it was the complete opposite. I felt a bit like a fake, you know? A charlatan, sort of. I felt undeserving of the title I'd just one. Sure, I got one title defense in after defeating Eli Black, but did I do anything to elevate the title? I don't think so..." he said, his eyes drifting to the floor. "In fact, undeserving is the perfect word for my entire X-Division title reign. Having this ingrained in my head messed with my psyche all this time. But I've come to terms with it."
He looked back up, towards Michelle, attempting to ascertain if she agreed that his feelings were valid on that point. She didn't give anything away. Her mind was pre-occupied by concern for her tag team partner. He'd always been somewhat self-deprecating, but things had worsened since they'd lost the tournament final. She didn't expect the immediate irony of the question that followed...
“Why are you so hard on yourself?” Gerald questioned with curiosity filling those big, dark brown eyes. After remembering the game that they were playing, she considered asking him the same question straight back, but - given what he’d been through the last three weeks - she didn’t know if now was quite the time for introspection. She would broach the subject later, but for now she’d deflect.
“Because I’m the worst, Gerald.”
Gerald had his next question lined up and ready to go.
“Why are you friends with me?” as a smile crept up on his face.
“That’s two questions, tulip.”
“And you have two shots left,” Toner put in. “I’ll allow it.”
Michelle rolled her eyes.
“Because you’re the best, Gerald.”
Gerald tilted his head before looking at Danny.
“Those don’t sound like responses to me, Danny. More like evasion. What do you think?” Gerald took one of his shot glasses and put it in front of Michelle, knowing full well what Danny’s response would be.
“Drink!”
“Okay, here’s one,” Michelle began, shortly after finishing her tequila and rounding on Danny. “I want to know about Donny. What’s behind the mask? Is he actually your brother?”
Danny looked at one of the several drinks he had in front of them, and then at Michelle.
“Yes,” he nodded. “He’s my brother.”
“Like… as a metaphor for something?”
“Not everything’s a metaphor for something.”
An hour later, the three of them sat with twelve shot glasses, three champagne flutes, a bottle in an ice bucket, a two-thirds drunk bottle of Jameson’s, a dozen beer bottles, and six cocktail glasses arrayed upon the large table at their booth. All of the receptacles (save the dregs of the Whiskey) were empty, and Michelle caught the waitress’ eye and pointed at the ice bucket, asking for reinforcements to be summoned.
“Who do you think they’ll put you up against next?” Gerald asked, tearing the corners of a place mat and staring down at nothing in-particular. The alcohol was blurring his vision, and the ends of his fingers felt strange.
“I think they probably won’t book me,” Michelle said, leaning back on the long couch and draining her champagne flute. The bottle was still empty, and Danny was doubling up on Michelle’s order. “If I’m lucky they’ll give me that Kleio girl, I guess. Or Ty Kujo again. If he’s still around, that is. Did you hear the CWA turned him down?”
“You don’t think it’ll be Parr?” Gerald mused.
“I doubt it,” she answered. “Although, a girl can hope. I don’t feel like that particular episode is finished. But I’m not this lucky.”
“It’s not about luck,” Danny said, with a scoff. “Michelle: you just won the Carnal Contendership! If you want a match next week, ask for one.”
Michelle thought about the proposition for a moment. Even if she didn’t exactly hold all the cards (yet), at least now she had some of them in her hand.
“Who will you ask for?” Gerald asked. He was tapping the surface of the glass table with an idle forefinger. “Parr?”
“Not yet,” Michelle said, watching the waitress pop the cork from a fresh bottle. She poured the champagne into the flutes, and immediately the three took their glasses up. “The New Breed, I think. The monkeys still need dealing with. The organ grinder can wait.”
“You just say the word if you need me… and I’ll be there,” Gerald insisted, with a nod towards Michelle.
She knew that this would be his response. And to be honest, this time she hoped it would be. She remembered, of course, the letter she’d written to Gerald, asking for some space following the tag team tournament. Space, ostensibly, to deal with her problems on her own. But her problems had only multiplied, and the straight line she’d hoped to rule off beneath them had never materialised. She looked from Danny to Gerald, and then back to Danny, as if reminding herself that she had people she could rely on now. The Carnal Contendership had proved that. Gerald was a good man, and there was no reason to turn her back on him.
“I need you,” she said. Just then, the waitress - misinterpreting Michelle’s cryptic points and nods - arrived with another nine shots of tequila.
… … …
It was after six in the morning, and the three of them had made their way up to the top of a hill overlooking the northern bank of the Mississippi. A single oak tree sprouted from the brow of the hill, its old and gnarled branches fanning out wide, leafless in the winter but still proud and stoic in the face of its decay. Michelle had forced them onwards up the hill, parking herself on the ground with her back against the tree’s trunk. Gerald sat a metre or two in front of her, his back straight and his arms wrapped around his knees. He stared out over the river and the city lights beyond. Danny was shaking his head in an incredulous fashion.
“A motel?!” he asked, in disbelief. “The Carnal Contender, staying in a cheap motel on the edge of town? And I guess you’re pitching a tent in the parking lot, Gerald?”
“No,” Grayson answered, without turning. “I’m getting a bus this morning. Back to San Antonio, to see my brother…”
“A fucking bus?!” Toner said, exasperated. “No, no, no! Look, I’m with Donny tonight. Take my suite. It’s going to be empty anyway. A motel?! A fucking bus?”
He shook his head again, and then produced a key card from his pocket. Michelle protested, but Toner wouldn’t take no for an answer, and eventually succeeded in forcing it into her hand. Danny lay flat on his back at her side, and fished around in his pocket for his cigarettes.
‘You ran out, remember?” Michelle said as Danny produced what she had thought to be an empty packet. “And you refuse to smoke mine.”
“I don’t want a cigarette,” Toner answered, pulling a joint out of the otherwise-empty packet and placing it between his pursed lips. He waved a hand in front of Michelle’s face. “Lighter, please...”
Michelle passed it to him and watched Gerald watch the river. He seemed at peace, and she didn’t want to disturb him. The smell of Toner’s green filled her nostrils and brought a smile to her face.
“If I were you, and I know I’m not…” Toner said, exhaling a thick column of smoke and passing it on to Michelle. “I would leave the New Breed and Mike Parr well alone. We spoke about this before you went to Japan. And I know that you and Rondo talked on this on the island. I imagine Snowmantashi sang a similar tune. Ask for Kleio. Or Ty. Save Parr for after Back in Business…”
“You’re right,” Michelle began, taking one more drag before offering the joint back to Toner. He pointed at Gerald, but Michelle shook her head and he took it for himself. “You aren’t me. I’m not going to wait for a fresh start again.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, that was what all this was meant to be, right?” She started, her eyes drawn by the appearance of the oncoming sunrise. It peared over the lip of the world, casting an otherworldly band of bold orange light across the horizon. “Me coming back to America. A fresh start. But the shadows of the past have found their way to my side. Bell and Snowmantashi will chase me to the grave. I don’t want Parr to run alongside them. This has to be finished. Before Sullivan.”
Toner finished his drag, and then nodded whilst exhaling. He’d had enough, and left the joint for Michelle to finish. He lay back and placed his hands behind his head, staring up at the night sky.
“Suit yourself,” he said. “But it’s not what I’d do.”
Michelle was looking at Gerald again, silent and still and seated a couple of metres down the hill. Slowly, he toppled over, and began to snore. She wondered how long he’d been asleep.
“I can’t keep waiting. It has to be now.”
She looked across at Danny. His eyes were closed, and he was smiling.
“It’s later than you think.”
“A motel?!” he asked, in disbelief. “The Carnal Contender, staying in a cheap motel on the edge of town? And I guess you’re pitching a tent in the parking lot, Gerald?”
“No,” Grayson answered, without turning. “I’m getting a bus this morning. Back to San Antonio, to see my brother…”
“A fucking bus?!” Toner said, exasperated. “No, no, no! Look, I’m with Donny tonight. Take my suite. It’s going to be empty anyway. A motel?! A fucking bus?”
He shook his head again, and then produced a key card from his pocket. Michelle protested, but Toner wouldn’t take no for an answer, and eventually succeeded in forcing it into her hand. Danny lay flat on his back at her side, and fished around in his pocket for his cigarettes.
‘You ran out, remember?” Michelle said as Danny produced what she had thought to be an empty packet. “And you refuse to smoke mine.”
“I don’t want a cigarette,” Toner answered, pulling a joint out of the otherwise-empty packet and placing it between his pursed lips. He waved a hand in front of Michelle’s face. “Lighter, please...”
Michelle passed it to him and watched Gerald watch the river. He seemed at peace, and she didn’t want to disturb him. The smell of Toner’s green filled her nostrils and brought a smile to her face.
“If I were you, and I know I’m not…” Toner said, exhaling a thick column of smoke and passing it on to Michelle. “I would leave the New Breed and Mike Parr well alone. We spoke about this before you went to Japan. And I know that you and Rondo talked on this on the island. I imagine Snowmantashi sang a similar tune. Ask for Kleio. Or Ty. Save Parr for after Back in Business…”
“You’re right,” Michelle began, taking one more drag before offering the joint back to Toner. He pointed at Gerald, but Michelle shook her head and he took it for himself. “You aren’t me. I’m not going to wait for a fresh start again.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, that was what all this was meant to be, right?” She started, her eyes drawn by the appearance of the oncoming sunrise. It peared over the lip of the world, casting an otherworldly band of bold orange light across the horizon. “Me coming back to America. A fresh start. But the shadows of the past have found their way to my side. Bell and Snowmantashi will chase me to the grave. I don’t want Parr to run alongside them. This has to be finished. Before Sullivan.”
Toner finished his drag, and then nodded whilst exhaling. He’d had enough, and left the joint for Michelle to finish. He lay back and placed his hands behind his head, staring up at the night sky.
“Suit yourself,” he said. “But it’s not what I’d do.”
Michelle was looking at Gerald again, silent and still and seated a couple of metres down the hill. Slowly, he toppled over, and began to snore. She wondered how long he’d been asleep.
“I can’t keep waiting. It has to be now.”
She looked across at Danny. His eyes were closed, and he was smiling.
“It’s later than you think.”
… … …
Gerald stood a few feet from the lobby exit where he said he’d meet Michelle. It was a bright, sunny day, which was bad news for their shared hangover. He checked his watch and noted that it was a little before two. It was nice of Toner to arrange a late check-out for them, but it meant he was even later getting on his way. A bell signalled the exit opening and out came Michelle, wearing a pair of sunglasses that did very little to fight the sun.
“It is way too early for this. Why did I agree to - -” she stopped suddenly as Gerald handed her a plastic cup of coffee. She took the cup and sipped the black coffee. Already she felt better. The two companions stood side by side, sipping their drinks, Gerald giving her another metre of room when she took out and lit a cigarette.
“So… the New Breed. You really want this?” Gerald questioned.
“I do,” she replied back, almost instantly.
“Alright, good. Because I want them too. They’ve done way too much to both you and I without getting their comeuppance. Now’s the time for that,” he had his fist in a ball.
”It’s not just about beating them, Gerald,” she said, inbetween drags. Grayson nodded his head at the implication. ”We have scores to settle, here. We’re not going to be able to move forward until this is dealt with.”
“And then Parr is next. I can’t let what he did to me at the Carnal Contendership slide,”
”Yes, Parr is next,” she said. Gerald was surprised to find that she was smiling.
”You’re going to challenge him? Before Sullivan?”
”No,” she started. ”The time when I’d have been happy just beating Parr has gone. The ship is out of the dock. Everything that Parr loves… everything that he’s wanted all of these years… I’m going to take it all from him.”
Gerald let the words hang in the air for a moment, sipping at his coffee.
“Where are you headed to next?” he asked.
She shrugged. Probaby to her motel, to try and sleep a few more hours.
”Breakfast, maybe a museum…"
“Right, well, have fun with that.
"I guess you’re off to see your brother?"
"Yeah, I’m off to see Jay. I actually need to haul ass. Or well, this car I ordered to come get me needs to haul ass so I can make it in time for visiting hours," he said, with a somber tone as he looked at his watch once more. He was quite clearly antsy to get going. Michelle finished her cigarette, and threw it into a nearby drain.
”Well, I guess I’ll see you at Fight Night.
And with that she left.
*** With thirty minutes left until visiting hours were over, I managed to arrive at the hospital Jay was currently at. I was instructed by his nurse, Jill, that there had been no changes to his condition. This meant he was still unconscious, but at least he was stable. She informed me that the family decided to stay at the nearby hotel to rest. Until tonight, they’d been here every night since the accident happened. Pangs of guilt ran through by bones. And where was I? I sat down on the chair right across from Jay. Still feeling the effects of the night before, I started to massage my temple, but it was no use. I sighed heavily at the outcome: the sheer futility. Then I looked to my brother, Jay. There were so many cables connected to him that it looked like some sort of a robotics experiment. The constant beeping from the various machines in the room thudded and echoed inside my head. My brain throbbed. Before the crash happened, Jay and I had talked about how things were going. That’s all we ever spoke about, really. My main takeaway from the most recent incarnation of this conversation was that I needed to face my problems head on. So many times in the past Jay had talked to me about facing my demons and dealing with the outcomes in a straight-forward manner, whether good or bad, because I couldn’t be living in constant fear. How easy of him to say that, I always thought. But after thinking about it more and knowing what Jay had gone through himself, he didn’t just talk the talk. I smiled at his resilience, and pictured him sitting up in his bed, pulling the wires from his body and turning to face me. “Jay, I’m sorry for coming here all disheveled. I was out… drinking. Very unlike me, right?” I said with a laugh. “But get this, Michelle won the Carnal Contendership! I’m happy for her... Even if I came up short, I’m pretty happy with my performance because I was still able to compete despite the accident. The talk we had… before all of this happened… it really helped, Jay.” My voice was quiet and sombre. It didn’t sound like my own. “I can’t believe I was even able to compete after what happened. I had to get a second opinion from another doctor. I talked things out with him... and the doctor the FWA hooked me up with... and management, too... and I was able to go out there.” I smiled to myself, verging on doing a little dance to celebrate. But that quickly waned: the beeping machinery brought me back down to Earth, and I quickly remembered my headache. I looked at Jay once more. His forehead was wrapped up in cloth bandages, but you could still recognize him. His left arm and left leg were also wrapped - the left side of his body getting the brunt of the damage from the crash. Going back and remembering what had happened to him, to us, in that crash coaxed a tear to fall, and I bashfully wiped its tracks away. Jay wouldn’t want to see me like this. I had my fist in a ball - angry that this happened, angry that this happened to a good man. I stood up and started pacing around, ready to punch something. But again, the sounds from the machines were too much for my headache to handle. I stormed out of the room. I tried to regain my bearings; my head pressed against a wall. I massaged my temples, and - slowly but surely - I started to control my breathing, closing my eyes and taking in the oxygen deep. This did the trick. For that slim moment of time, I felt better. I looked through the small opening on the door to Jay’s room. I knew that Jay was doing his best to come back to us. That’s the type of person he is. He’s a fighter. Like he’s told me before: us Graysons always get back up. *** |
