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.
