Chapter 7: The Second to None City

Chicago, I love you. 

Chicago traffic, you can jump off a bridge.

We used to come up here a lot when I was younger.  My mom’s family is from here.  In fact, one of my earliest memories is waking up in the backseat of the car to Dad screaming at someone for nearly sideswiping us on the Dan Ryan, getting into town one Christmas Eve evening.  After PaPa and Nana retired to Florida, though, trips to the Windy City became pretty much exclusively for wrestling purposes.  But you know what they say about absence.  I don’t think I’ll ever lose my affection for this place.

Y’know… not to go off on too much of a tangent, but now that I think about it, there’s one way in which growing up and being based out of Mishawaka has been great for me and my career.  It’s actually a pretty great central location.  Just off the top of my head, I can think of about six major cities that were less than a four-hour drive from my apartment: Chicago, Indy, Detroit, Milwaukee, Cincinnati and Cleveland.  Louisville was only just over four, though that might be stretching the definition of “major city” just a bit.  Even Pittsburgh was a doable, though less than ideal, drive.  Promoters (especially newer or smaller ones) are definitely more likely to book you if they only have to reimburse you for gas instead of having to spring for a plane ticket.

In fact, Chicago wasn’t much more of a drive from my apartment than Fort Wayne had been.  But at least this time, Kathy was picking up the bill for the motel room.  “You’ll be rooming with Nicoma,” Kathy had informed me.

Not trying to lessen any of the glamour or allure of the indy wrestling lifestyle, but yes, this was pretty common.  Unless you’re working for one of the majors, nine times out of ten “your” motel room for a show is going to be one you’re sharing with at least one of your co-workers.  And it was far more likely to be a Motel 6 than a Four Seasons.  So that part was fine, but I gotta admit to a little disappointment at the choice of roommate.

Nothing against Nicoma, mind you.  No, we’d actually hit it off pretty well hanging out after the Fort Wayne show.  But I’ll be honest, I was hoping to get the chance to bunk with Quinn and do a little more catching up, maybe pick her brain about working in 3M.  True, she hadn’t been here much longer than me.  But still, I’d have loved to hear any insights or stories she might offer.

Unfortunately for me at least, Quinn wasn’t working this show.

Luckily, while Chicago traffic remained every bit as stressful as I remembered, the actual drive itself proved far less eventful than my trip into Fort Wayne had been.  After leaving home a little past 7 Saturday evening (hoping to miss the worst of the traffic) I managed to get into town right around 9.  Check in went through without a hitch, and after getting my keycard, I headed up to the third floor of the Days Inn.

I slid my keycard in and opened the door.  The light already being on was my first clue that Nicoma had beat me here, but then I heard the rustling.  Once I got a couple of steps in, past the bathroom, I could see Bylilly standing between the two beds, facing the one closest to the door.  She was dressed pretty casual in a pair of tight black jeans and a burgundy, belly baring tank.  Hey, if I had abs like hers, I’d wear tanks every fucking day.  And the aqua crystal dreamcatcher belly button ring certainly helped to draw your attention to those abs…

“Hey, girl,” Nicoma greeted me, looking up from her suitcase as she unpacked.  “Good drive in?”

“Surprisingly,” I replied, moving over to the far bed, ready to claim it as my own.  For the record, I thought I was looking pretty cute myself today in a snug lil short sleeved white tee, a pleated beige mini and a pair of white Adidas sneaks, a white headband pulling back my hair.  But even if the drive hadn’t gone as smoothly, it would’ve felt wrong complaining considering how easy my trip in was, comparatively speaking.  I was just next door.  One thing I’d picked up during our post-show dinner in Fort Wayne was that Nicoma was based out of Phoenix.  “What about you?  How was your flight?”

“Word of advice, Mags,” Nicoma said, lifting a shirt out of her bag.  “Never fly out of Denver if you can help it.  We were getting bumped around so much by the turbulence, I swear I thought the wings were gonna fall off.”

I gave her my best empathetic smile. But I also couldn’t help noticing, as she picked up that shirt…

Right there.  Neatly folded.  Silver faceplate facing up.

The 3M Midwestern Championship belt.

Look, everyone who ever gets in the business will tell you the same thing: ultimately, the goal is to become a World champion.  And that was certainly my goal.  But virtually no one ever wins a World title as their first championship.  And I can’t lie, that Midwestern belt has held a special place in my heart, ever since the night I saw Tamara Thomas win it for the first time.  I haven’t been fortunate enough to win a belt yet, though I’ve had a couple of opportunities for minor championships in some small, regional companies. 

I definitely want that belt.  It would absolutely be something special, if I could win that as my first career championship. 

But I’ve got no problem with Nicoma.  I’m not particularly itching to face her.

Nicoma chuckled.  “It’s okay.  I get it.”

Damn.  I hate that I was so obvious.

“Sorry,” I offered, but Bylilly raised a hand.

“You got nothing to apologize for,” she said.  “I know it comes with the territory.  And listen, once you feel you’re settled in here?  If you want a shot?  You got a shot.”

I nodded.  “Don’t think I won’t hold you to that.”

I’m not sure what Nicoma would’ve said, but before she could respond, there was a knock at the door.  When Bylilly opened it, Nova and Starfyre were standing out in the hall.

“Knock knock,” Nova grinned.

Nicoma stepped aside, ushering the Spencer sisters inside.  Starfyre was dressed in a fuzzy, long-sleeved cream turtleneck sweater and a pair of blue, high waisted, fairly sensible jeans.  On anyone else, I’d definitely call them mom jeans, but not many moms look like Nova and Starfyre’s, even north of 50.  Nova, on the other hand, took “sensibly” and chucked it right out the window.  She was wearing a black, long sleeved mesh bodysuit over a neon green corset top, and matching leather hot pants to go along with fishnet stockings and a pair of thigh high boots.     

“Hey, Mags,” Nova called over to me.  Her sister flashed me a warm, welcoming smile.

I nodded back.  “Hey.”

“You two seen Jaz and Nikki yet?” Nicoma asked.

“Seen?  No,” Nova replied.  “But they texted.  They’re already at O’Banion’s.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Nicoma asked, purely rhetorically.  Hell, I barely knew any of these women at this point, and I wasn’t surprised.  O’Banion’s Hideaway was a bar that had precisely the sort of ambiance that the name implied.  Stepping inside was precisely like falling into a wormhole back to the 1920’s, only without the danger of either a drive by hit or Eliot Ness and his Untouchables barging in.  I’d only been there once or twice, but I could easily picture the two of them there.  Honestly, it was almost surprisingly easy for me to picture Nikki particularly as a flapper girl in that setting …

“We taking your car?” Nicoma asked.  “Less miles I can put on the rental, the better.”

“I’m insulted you even think you have to ask,” Nova teased.  The Heavenly Bodies were billed as being “from the milkiest depths of the Milky Way.”  In reality, the Spencer girls were both born in Malibu, though these days they lived in St. Louis.  Plenty close enough to drive up to Chicago.  Really, it was close enough that they’d made the drive into Fort Wayne for the last show and had drawn carpool duty when the gang went out for dinner after that show.

Nothing against my 2012 Toyota Camry.  She was a perfectly fine lil car.  Got some miles on her by this point, especially over the last two years, but she’s been good to me.  The Spencer girls weren’t messing around, though.  When Starfyre graduated from wrestling school, Liberty bought her daughters a 2020 Ford Transit.  “Great for transporting merch to shows and events,” Starfyre told me Liberty had told them.   Also made them a popular choice for carpooling to and from venues.

And should the need arise (which frankly would not surprise) it might come in handy tonight, if Jaz and Nikki got themselves too trashed to drive back to the motel.

We piled into the Transit, with Starfyre driving and her sister calling shotgun.  This made me happy; I’m not sure Nova had the attention span to handle driving in Chicago traffic.  She definitely spent the whole drive chatting with me and Nicoma.  I’ll say this, Libby Spencer named her kids appropriately.  Nova was every bit the bright, explosive force as her namesake.  Starfyre, on the other hand, was such a quiet and reserved beauty.  At first glance, it might seem surprising that someone so laid back could be as charismatic in the ring as she is.  But even there, it’s really a sort of calm charisma…

By the grace of God (which you have to have to survive when surrounded by Chicago drivers) we made it to O’Banion’s.  The copious amounts of wood paneling, from the bar to the walls, did a good job of absorbing the light from the hanging overhead lamps, creating just the appropriate atmosphere.  The shelves behind the bar with stuffed with bottle after bottle after bottle.  The wall across from the bar was lined with U-shaped booths, each one walled off to create the sort of privacy you’d need to conduct… “business.”  Each booth had its own art deco print on the wall.  In the distance was an archway into another room, which had yet more booths, as well as a pool table and in the far distance a stage.

I could see Jaz, bent over the table, lining up her shot.  She was sporting a short sleeved gray tee that left just the tiniest sliver of midriff visible and a pair of considerably torn blue jeans.  (And I couldn’t help but notice the guy that Jazmin was playing with taking particular note of the tears that left visible the curves of Wylde’s glutes.  Boys are so predictable…)  Nikki stood off to the side, and… y’know, I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone whose style was better at blending innocence with sexiness as Nikki Vasquez.  She was wearing a darling little baby blue short sleeved short sweater over a matching bra top, along with a blue plaid mini and white thigh highs, to go with matching pumps.  She was actively chatting with three guys, at least until…

“MAGS!!!”

I smiled and waved, while at the same time trying to imperceptibly brace myself for the attack hug that I knew was incoming.  I don’t know how someone so tiny could cover that much ground in so little time, but it barely felt like the space of a heartbeat before her arms were engulfing me, pulling me in tight.

I will say this: Nikki does give DAMN good hugs.

As Nikki pulled away, I could see Jaz accepting a small wad of cash from the guy she’d been playing, before she returned her cue to the wall and joined us.  We claimed a booth and ordered a pizza for the table.  (And pizza marinara for the Spencers.)  We’d all work it off tomorrow.  I scooted in on the right, Nikki following me and Jaz following her, while Nicoma, Nova, and Starfyre slipped into the left side of the booth in that order.

After our drinks arrived, Jazmin leaned forward to look past Nikki and meet my eye.  “So, Mags,” she began, “any idea who you got tomorrow?”

I shook my head.  “Kathy didn’t say.”

“Hmmm,” Starfyre murmured.

Ordinarily, that might not have been enough to deserve a reaction.  But at this point, anytime that Starfyre chose to speak was worthy of getting a response from me.  “Why ‘hmmm?’”

It was her sister who answered.  “Just a word of advice,” Nova said.  “Make sure you keep your guard up with Kathy.”

That wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know.  One of the very first things you learn in this business is that the promoters may be friendly to you, but they are never your friends.  Their first and greatest loyalty will always be to their company, and to their company’s bottom line.  And they will do anything with you that benefits the latter, from simply not using you anymore to booking you in the most wildly unfair of match ups if they think it’ll make a ton of money.  “But I’d always heard Kathy was one of the good ones?”

“Oh, I think everyone at this table has worked for worse people,” Nicoma said.  “She’s never fucked me over on my money, and as far as I know, she’s never pulled anyone’s booking because she was suddenly able to get her hands on a bigger name.”

“She’s definitely honest,” Nikki interjected.  “Especially for a promoter.”

“But she’s not above… testing you,” Jaz offered.  “Seeing what you’re made of.  Especially when she’s first starting to use you.”

“Testing me?” I echoed.  “What does that mean, exactly?”

“I don’t think anyone’s saying she’ll try to stack the deck against you,” Nicoma said.  “Just that there may be more to this try out match than you might think going into it.”

And now it was my turn to go, “Hmmm.”

The rest of the conversation was considerably different than after the show in Fort Wayne.  That had been mostly about the show, but this felt more like a getting-to-know-you session for my benefit.  We talked about our parents, siblings, boyfriends, girlfriends.  Pretty much the most we talked about this crazy business was what we each might have done if we hadn’t gotten into it.  Eventually, Jaz and Nikki serenaded the bar with an alcohol-fueled rendition of “Telephone.” 

(Nova will probably try to tell you that I followed up with a performance of “My Humps” but I have no recollection of this.)

But the conversation about Kathy never drifted too far from my thoughts.  Who said there had to be anything nefarious about it?  I’d been so excited just to be offered the match, it’s not like I actually thought to ask about an opponent.

Still… just as long as we weren’t running it back with Genesis, I felt pretty confident.

 

 

Chapter 6: Upon Further Review

It took a little bit of time for me to feel back to myself that night.  And it definitely took a little bit of time to shake the feeling that an irate Genesis might barge her way into the dressing room, even if she’d have to get through about a dozen women to get her hands on me.

Eventually, though, Jade came up to me.  And after offering her congratulations, she told me she’d seen Santiago storm her way out of the building once she had gotten showered and dressed.  The coast was clear, to go back out in the hall.

But all I wanted to do was soak in my tub for about twelve hours.

I settled for a shower, though, once I felt strong enough to stumble into the stall.  Once the night was over, a bunch of us girls (me, Nikki, Jaz, Quinn, Nicoma, Nova, and Starfyre) all went out to grab a bite to eat.  As the native Hoosier, I was appointed Dining Coordinator for the evening.  As such, I decided that if they wanted the authentic Hoosier experience, it doesn’t get much more Indiana than Steak ‘n Shake.  

(Unless, of course, you count Penguin Point.  But while they might be the people pleasin’ place, it was late, we were quite a bit of people, and what was gonna please us most was the chance to sit and relax for a while.)

Over steakburgers (and salads for the Spencer sisters, them being vegan and all) we spent the rest of the night celebrating Nicoma’s winning the Midwestern title from “the Hot Girl” Summer Thatcher, commiserating with Nova and Starfyre for coming up just short against the Hurricane Sisters, and the other girls continuing to heap more congratulations on me than I was comfortable accepting.  Especially considering how much Genesis had actually controlled the match.  Still, a win’s a win, so I wasn’t about to argue the outcome.

Eventually we all made our way back to the motel, shared a few hugs (EVERYONE got one from Nikki) and said our goodbyes.  Some of us had early flights out of town in the morning, others needed to hit the road early.  And some of us like to sleep in a little after a rough match.  So, you never can be sure just who you’re gonna see in the lobby in the morning, which means it’s best to make your farewells tonight.  I did end up running into Nicoma while checking out, but sure enough, I didn’t see anyone else before I started the drive home.

Kathy Davies wasn’t at the show, and it wasn’t streamed online, but I knew word would reach her that one of her top stars had just taken a second, and far more surprising, loss pretty quickly.  So, I expected to get a phone call pretty soon.  And my phone definitely blew up, starting Monday morning.  My dad used to talk all the time about being a wrestling fan as a child, and how in those days, how it was such a chore to keep track of the important developments outside of your little fiefdom and the national promotions.  Basically, once a month or so you got a small update from one of the magazines.  But it’s a big country, never mind the world, and they only cast as much of a spotlight on things as their limited page counts could provide.

Not so today, in a world of the internet and social media.  No, today no matter how small a town a show might be held in, it could conceivably be seen as far away as Antarctica, thanks either to the show being streamed online or some fan taking out their phone, shooting video and tweeting it or posting it to YouTube.  No, it was never easier to be a wrestling fan than it is today.

So, when a relative unknown like yours truly takes down an established star like Genesis Santiago… saying I went viral would probably be an overstatement, even if you were just talking about the world of online wrestling fandom.  But my win definitely got noticed.  And I started getting phone calls looking for interviews.  Both from the professional online wrestling media, and also from… look, today everyone and their brother, sister, and third cousin twice removed has a podcast.  And I’d gotten a few calls from them as well, hoping to get me on their shows.

But nothing from Kathy.  At least not yet.

By Wednesday, I was no longer constantly looking at my lock screen.  Instead, I was looking at my laptop screen, like I do every Wednesday evening.  Alina Harvey had always stressed the importance of video study during her training.

(Well, technically, she always stressed “tape study.”  But who the fuck has tapes these days?

If I knew I had an opponent coming up, I’d knock myself out watching their material.  But I also felt it was important to go back and watch my own stuff.  Sometimes my wins, sure, but honestly?  I spent more time going back over my losses.  Trying to learn from them.  Looking to see if I could spot what I might have done differently.

Like tonight.

I’ve wrestled a fair amount of people in my short time in the business.  But there are only a handful of girls I can say I’ve wrestled more than once at this point.  Such was the life of an independent wrestler.  If you were one of the boys or the girls in the big leagues, with their set rosters and consistent time to be focused on, then you had the luxury of building true rivalries.  On the indies, though, where the rosters were far more fluid and anyone could disappear at a moment’s notice, your true honest to God blood rivalries were a little rarer.  I’m not really sure you can say I have a legitimate blood rival in the business…

… but if I do, her name is Luna Salazar.

I’m gonna be honest.  With her and me, it was loathing at first sight.  Y’know, whenever you get any of us girls in interviews, whatever personal issues we might have with whoever we’re working with, we’re usually pretty good with compartmentalizing.  We may not like the other girl personally, but we’ll usually be quick to say we respect them and the work they’ve done to get here.  The sacrifices they’ve made.  Women supporting women, am I right?  That’s the goal, isn’t it?

But real talk here.  Some girls in the business haven’t put in the work.  Some of them haven’t sacrificed.  And that’s Luna.

I decided to become a wrestler as a kid, and everything I’ve done since then has been to help me reach the top of the business.  I highly doubt Luna gave the first thought to becoming a wrestler before that talent executive in Hartford saw her in a swimsuit catalog at 19 and saw money.  Some girls work fifteen to twenty years hoping for a shot at the big leagues.  The first time Luna set foot in a ring was for a developmental promotion for one of the major leagues.

Now, I will give the devil her due: she was in their system for a year and a half before they let her go, and it would have been very easy for her to decide to go back to modeling.  But instead, she went to the indy circuit.  No doubt with an eye toward making the big leagues reconsider.  She certainly never let any of us forget that she had already been where most of us wanted to go, even if she wasn’t still there now.

So far, we’ve met three different times, in three different companies.  Promoters liked to put us together, for some reason.  And honestly, I get it.  We’re definitely an aesthetically pleasing match up.  We’re both on the young side.  She’s actually just a bit younger than me.  I’m blonde, she’s… not.  Honestly, girl LOVES changing her hair color.  I’m pretty sure it’s been a different color each time we’ve fought.  I’ve got an ass that’s sold a metric fuckton of 8x10”s, and she’s…

Alright.  We’ve GOTTA talk about the bazoombas.

I mean, I don’t wanna be gratuitous.  But Jesus fuck, they’re about as gratuitous as you can get without be downright ridiculous.  I was speculating when it came to Genesis, but one thing about having a past as a model was that Luna’s bra size was a matter of public record.  And while there’s NO way you could ever call 32G “proportionate,” they didn’t look out of place on her.

I wouldn’t want her back.  Especially after a few more years in this business.

I’ve definitely lost my share of matches coming up through the ranks, though I know I’ve won more than I lost.  I couldn’t tell you exactly how many more off the top of my head without paying a visit to HellInACell.com, but I’ve got a good record. 

Except against Luna.

Technically, I’m 1-2 against Luna.  Though truthfully, it’s hard to feel like I’ve ever come out on top against her.  The last time we met was officially a “W” for me, but that win was the result of the referee turning around just in time to actually SEE her land the brass knuckles shot she was hoping would give her the victory.  She was still the one who walked out of the ring that night, while I got carried to the back.

The second time we met, I absolutely HAD her.  But she managed to steal the win, thanks in large part to both a pair of feet on the middle rope, as well as a handful of tights.  She wasn’t taking any chances.

But the first match… I definitely underestimated her the first time out.  Because here’s the thing: for as much as she never had to work for it, the girl… doesn’t suck.

(And if you EVER tell anyone I said that I will kick your fucking ass.)

Honestly?  Of all the girls they’ve taken out of swimsuit and lingerie catalogs over the years, she might be one of the most talented ones.  If this bitch had come up through Alina’s program?  She might be a bona fide force today.  Honestly, it boggles my mind that the good folks in Hartford threw her back out on the streets, considering some of the women with similar backgrounds that they’ve kept around.

But hey, they’ve been around her more than I have.  And sometimes, it takes more than just talent.  Maybe they were around her enough to know that however good she might be, her head just wasn’t in the right place to make a proper go of this.

Still… her head was in a good enough place that she could get me up on her shoulders and in a Torture Rack.  Or, excuse me, the Midnight Bridge, as she called in.  (And gee, I wonder why on Earth the coaches who got their hands on her thought THAT would be a great finish for a girl with a rack like hers…)  I’m still proud of myself for passing out that night, rather than giving up.

But, of our three matches, that’s the one I revisit the most.  Noting my mistakes.  Trying to ensure that I never underestimate her (or anyone else) again, as much as I can help it. 

On my laptop screen, Luna was juuust starting to muscle me up onto her shoulders when I heard my ringtone.  And finally, there it was: Kathy’s name, showing on my lock screen. 

“Hello?”

“Hey, kid.  It’s Kathy Davies,” said the voice on the end of the line.  The way old people who grew up without cellphones with built-in Caller ID often do.  “Sorry I haven’t called sooner, but it’s been a busy week trying to get next iPPV put together.”

“No worries,” I said, my free hand flexing and relaxing as I got up and started to pace.  Trying to give a physical outlet for all the stress, anxiety and excitement I wanted to keep out of my voice.

“Anyways,” Kathy continued, “I also wanted to congratulate you on the win this weekend.  Even though it wasn’t the most convincing of victories, was it?”

I didn’t bristle at that remark.  I knew what she was doing.  Kathy Davies was, first and foremost, a businesswoman.  And she had to know her leverage in this situation was less than ideal.  She was talking to a woman who had just scored possibly the biggest upset in the history of her company for a very long time.  She would be absolutely crazy not to bring me back and try to capitalize on that.

But no doubt she was hoping I was too young and naïve to realize that.

“A win’s a win,” I said, simply.

“True,” Kathy agreed.  “But before I commit to using you long term, I need to know that wasn’t a fluke.”

Okay.  The f-word did make me bristle, however slightly.  But I bit my tongue.  Never piss off the person deciding whether or they want to hire you.

“With that in mind,” Kathy carried on, “I wanna bring you in. to open the iPPV with a tryout match.  You win that, and I’ll start factoring you into my long-term plans.”

I closed my eyes, clenching my free hand into a tight fist as I started jumping up and down, trying not to squeal in excitement.  And hoping she couldn’t hear me touch down each time I landed.

“You free next weekend?” she asked.

Gathering myself, I didn’t beat.  “I’m a professional,” I said.  “I’m never free.”

I could hear the tiniest of laughs on the other end of the line.  Kathy has a pretty good reputation in the business for being fair with her business practices.  I’ve never heard any of the girls who’ve come through 3M complain about their payoffs.

“But I’m available.”