Alicia Goon 029: Celebrity endorsement

Content warning, highlight the hidden text between the lines: 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

None in this installment

------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Morning arrived with all the usual ceremony of an alarm clock. Alicia sat up and rubbed her sleep-starved eyes, but no amount of rubbing could wipe away the grimy feeling of three non-contiguous hours, at most. While built in the '40s and still largely original, the house had good bones. The joints and cartilage, though, had seen better days. Even before becoming the obsession of a vengeful, straitjacket-wearing wrestler affectionately nicknamed "The Mother of Nightmares," the nighttime creaks and pops of the house settling already made falling asleep a challenge. Now, they were a sporadic, urgent reminder to get out of bed and check the locks on the doors and windows again.

Castle Winthrop remained on high alert. The lamps were staying on, the bathroom light was staying on, and the exterior lights, too. At the tip of the spear, the plug-in Janetti the Yeti nightlight remained vigilant at his post by the nightstand.

7:00 AM arrived, and it was time to pay the paranoia toll. Alicia rolled out of bed and checked herself in the standing mirror. A pair of bloodshot eyes stared back at her, and she didn't have to look hard to notice the bags underneath. The bruise and lump on her forehead could be hidden under a scarf, as had become standard Monday attire. She grabbed a length of paisley blue satin along with a sweater and comfortable pants, going with an ensemble that felt nice more so than looked nice. She'd do her best at work today without doing too much, and it would have to be enough. 

Alicia didn't spend long in the shower. Intermingled with the hiss of water and the gurgling drain, she swore she heard a voice calling to her.

"Alicia…"

Any minute, one of the back windows would shatter. Then fists would pound and pound and pound and the old bathroom door would rattle and splinter at the hinges and give way, and the blackhearted, wild-eyed fury Alicia had loosed upon herself would pour through. Fortunately, that didn't happen.

It was actually something worse. 

She opened the shower curtain. Something on the varnished wood door to her left drew her attention. Less than a foot away, just below eye-level, the pattern on the door’s aged, dark brown finish seemed to pop. She reached for the towel hanging from the door-mounted towel rack, still trying to make out what she was looking at. Then it moved. Spider. That's a wolf spider. And big. She wished it were only as big as the palm of Robert’s hand.

Alicia slowly retracted her hand from the towel rack. She didn’t want to smash it with her fist and get another handful of spider chili. A fresh roll of toilet paper hung just within reach. She'd reel off a bunch of that–enough that she wouldn't feel the soul escape its body–and then mash up this interloper. Are you Ralph? She pinched the toilet paper in her fingers and tried to pull, but it immediately disintegrated in her soaking-wet hand. She checked the wall again. Ralph(?) had climbed higher, wise to her game.

Fiddlesticks! Alicia ripped the entire roll free from the flimsy plastic roller and swung the fluffy, white bludgeon at the intruder a millisecond too late. She missed and struck the door low. Low, and very hard, causing Maybe-Ralph to tumble from the door and onto the toilet paper roll in her hand. In a panic, it crawled inside the cardboard tube. 

"NO!" shrieked Alicia as she dropped her two-ply weapon onto the perpetually damp bathroom carpet. "NO NO NO!!" The horrible thing was the size of a computer mouse, but it escaped under the door like the furry kind. Get dressed or go after it? Get dressed or go after it? She threw open the door.

The kitchen door swung open an inch before catching against the draw-chain lock. "Alicia, are you-"

The sudden introduction of a third party briefly stole Alicia's attention. "I very much appreciate your concern, but really not now!" she screamed back.  

Slam! 

She scanned the floor, walls, and ceiling. Nothing. No way could it have gotten all the way down the hallway. She checked again. Floor, walls, ceiling. Nothing. Oh no. Alicia cranked her neck around and looked behind her. Just above the bathroom door, a seven-and-three-quarter-legged wolf spider stared back like she was the one who should leave, then turned and fled up the wall and through a vent, out of sight. 

Alicia whimpered as she squat-walked back into the bathroom, fearing an aerial ambush. She dried off, got dressed, and turned to leave. There was something stuck to the door—something flat, squished, and fuzzy. It looked like a segment of spider leg. Alicia had drawn first blood, but her quarry escaped. Now she was the prey.

Alicia whimpered as she squat-walked back into the bathroom, fearing an aerial ambush. She dried off, got dressed, and turned to leave. There was something stuck to the door—something flat, squished, and fuzzy. It looked like a segment of spider leg. Alicia had drawn first blood, but her quarry escaped. Now she was the prey. 

She semi-confidently stood upright on her way to the kitchen, passing the four large, unguarded windows and that heavy door to the backyard with the peeling paint she hoped wasn’t original. She stared at the woods beyond the eight-foot strip of lawn she and Robert took turns mowing poorly and infrequently, unable to shake the feeling that, somewhere in that dense, wooded sprawl, Black Violet was staring back.

Alicia slid open the lock, turned the knob, and half-ran into the kitchen. "Is everything okay?" asked Robert, abandoning his bowl of Gummy Worm Crunch at the card/dinner table to meet her at the kitchen door.

"Big ol' wolf spider came at me in the shower," replied Alicia. "I think I have a nemesis now?"

"Ralph!" chided Robert.

Alicia's countenance grew dire and her voice grave. "You didn't bring him inside."

Robert’s already pale complexion washed out entirely as he waved his hands frantically in front of him. "No. No, I seriously didn't. That was me joking. Seriously, I wouldn't do that." She checked him with her eyes. "Alicia! You know me better," he scolded.

Alicia nodded and lowered her scrutinous gaze. She regretted pressing the issue. "You're right. Sorry." She scooped herself a heaping, eyeball-measured serving of cottage cheese, plucked a banana from the bunch, and stood beside the brick countertop, helping herself to a lumpy spoonful of breakfast.

Robert returned to his bowl and twirled his spork in the tie-dye milk slime, gathering up what looked like a strawberry-lime-oat bran gummy worm like spaghetti. He slurped it up like spaghetti, too. Alicia raised her hand in front of her face, indicating her disgust.

"Sorry," he apologized, lips pursed in a guilty little smile. "Who did you have over last night?"

"Why?" Alicia's heart dropped into her stomach. Did he see someone skulking around?

"I saw a really fancy sports car parked by the curb."

"Oh! Uh, Par- Giselle Tillman, actually," said Alicia, not really relieved.

The multigrain-lemon half of a gummy worm tumbled from his lips and back into the bowl of prismatic milk with a plop. "The Giselle Tillman?" Robert stammered. Alicia nodded. Her nerves faded into a grin at her friend’s reaction as he sputtered in search of words. "Wha-? You- she was here? She was here. Here."

"I mean, not in the kitchen," Alicia clarified, prompting an eye-roll. "We just chatted for a bit about maybe teaming up."

Robert quirked an eyebrow. "What do you think about the idea?"

Alicia washed down a bite of banana with a swig of whole milk. "Well, it depends if I get a contract or not. I'm finding that out today. But if they sign me, I think I'm going to do it. We're good together. I think we could win the tag team titles once my hand's good to go."

Robert appeared to be nodding, but Alicia couldn’t tell with his head tipped back and obscured behind a large black bowl with a picture of a spoon ominously dripping milk and the words “I’m a Cereal Killer” in thin, white text. 

"Wow," exclaimed Robert as he wiped his mouth with his wrist, not sounding entirely positive. "A team-up with Giselle Tillman. What must that be like?"

She hadn't seen Robert wince like that since those Reinforcements fans ordered a pitcher of Chicago's Best. Former Reinforcements fans. Alicia couldn't bring herself to bear the remnants of The Reinforcements further malice. It was over; they lost enough. Robert rose from his folding chair and dropped his dishes into his side of the sink, jarring Alicia from her moment of reflection. 

"Don't take this as me caring, but I have to ask: what is she like?" asked Robert.

Alicia brought both hands to her forehead. "She is… so much. It's like being in the room with a cartoon sometimes. But you know what? She's alright. She finds ways to be nice. Did you know she has a cat?" Robert gave an apathetic shrug. "She's… really dumb, though. Like, quite dumb."

Alicia started laughing louder and much more than she expected. She had assumed the Giselle Tillman/Party Girl character existed purely for the cameras. It never occurred to her that the exact same person would still be there when no one was watching, and that tickled her funny bone in a way she couldn't quite describe. Robert joined in, laughing in gasps. Alicia wasn't sure if he was laughing at her or Party Girl, but she playfully slapped him on the arm. Then reality slapped her on the arm.

"You about ready to go?" Robert asked, swinging the door open wide to his side of the house.

Alicia nodded, "Thank you again for driving me to work. I'm going to get my car fixed eventually."

"You're welcome. You seriously don't have to thank me every day," Robert replied.

It was one less thing to worry about when the course of her life hung in the balance. She pushed her anxiety to one side. Today was the most important day of her adult life, and she was ready for it.

"Hang on,” said Alicia, “I need to brush my teeth."

* * * * *

A forecast of "wind and drizzle" sounded innocuous enough to warrant leaving the umbrella at home. The 11 blocks between the Beaver DAM (Downtown Area Metro) bus stop and the front door of Hard Times provided ample time to learn nature’s cruelty firsthand.

Alicia rounded the corner of 33rd and Travis and took off at a run as she glimpsed Hard Times in the distance. She covered the final two blocks as quickly as the traffic lights would allow (not very) and raced past the powder-blue parking lot decoration with the Perletta hood ornament. Are they going to tow my car if they cut me? If so, she literally could not afford to fail. 

Someone sat at the front desk, but it wasn’t Sabrina. Through the glass, Alicia could make out a head of brilliant red hair belonging to Helene Rivera. She slowed to a brisk walk about three seconds too late to avoid Helene spotting her tearing across the parking lot in her work flats while clutching her purse like a football.

She reacted to being seen with a wide grin and an enthusiastic wave. I am a huge dork. Six steps up, through the glass door. Say something natural. "Hello, Helene. How are you on this drizzly winter's eve?"

Helene cracked a slight smile at the woman whose career she held in the palm of her hand. She rose from her seat and gestured to the back office door. "Hi, Alicia. Follow me back."

Alicia bit her tongue long enough to let Helene finish before asking her most pressing question, "How's Sab doing? Is she here?" 

"Sabrina isn't ready to come back yet," said Helene as they strode past Sabrina’s closed office door. "She's taking the time off she needs." The five-time former Queen of Queens Champion unlocked the door with the golden H.R. plaque and invited Alicia to have a seat.

A heap of shattered ceramic that once was a coffee mug lay at the bottom of the wastebasket by the desk. The framed newspaper article covering Helene’s first championship win was also conspicuously missing from the wall.

Helene settled into her mahogany-colored leather throne of an office chair and leaned forward, hands on her desk, fingers laced together. Three excruciating seconds passed before Helene broke the silence, "I don't intend to keep you in suspense any longer than I imagine you want to be kept in suspense. I have decided to extend you an offer for a one-year contract with Queens of War."

Alicia's jaw dropped as she brought both hands to her mouth, eyes wide, heart pounding in her throat. Helene opened her top-left desk drawer, withdrew a stack of a half-dozen or so papers stapled together and laid the document neatly on the desk before sliding it to Alicia.

"The details are in the contract. It's the standard first-year deal: $27,000 annual, plus upside. Minimum 12 appearances, barring injury; up to 33 at the rate specified. Percentage of gate, special event appearance bonus, merchandise if applicable. You can read."

"Thank-" croaked Alicia before clearing her throat. "Thank you." She wiped away the tears forming in the corners of her eyes with her good hand.

“I think you’d agree that it wasn’t an auspicious start. Good little match with McKill, but to be perfectly candid, I was prepared to cut you right up until Friday at 8:06 PM. I’m extending this contract purely on the basis of the crowd reaction you got last Friday. Your crowd reaction with Party Girl, if you take my meaning.” Helene plucked an engraved, gold fountain pen from its stand and offered it to Alicia, but pulled back when Alicia reached out to take it. The industry veteran's voice grew stern as she locked eyes with her newest hire. "I hope you remember what we talked about. You ask for matches. If you want a hand in making them, I better see a belt around your waist." 

Alicia nodded, nervous eyes darting between her boss-to-be and the contract. She daydreamed through six pages of troubling legal jargon and words like "indemnity" that a lawyer would need to review before she could make an informed decision. "So just sign and date here, then?" asked Alicia. 

"And initial there. Thank you," said Helene cordially, taking the pen back. "And the reason I mentioned Party Girl is because Party Girl mentioned you. She called me Saturday asking not only that I sign you, but that I put you two together in a match against I.T. Factor at the Fan Appreciation Fight event on January 31st. The decision to sign you was entirely mine, but I'll confess she brings a lot of money and attention to the promotion, so it would be good for your career to take this opportunity seriously." 

Am I already being vaguely threatened? Alicia wondered. No. It would be incorrect to say "already."

Alicia breathed a sigh of relief. Now that she was signed to the promotion, she was free to concentrate on thwarting her lunatic wrestling stalker. Things were looking up.

Alicia Goon 028: Power couple

Content warning, highlight the hidden text between the lines: 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

None in this installment

------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Alicia leaned against the wall by the locker room in the beige cinder block corridor. The urgency in Giselle's voice scared her. Whatever she needed to say couldn't be shared in the arena. Alicia clutched her practice stick tight in both hands. Breathe in, breathe out. She tugged open the door just two-thirds of a smidge and peered through the crack, praying to find at least one other person. She couldn't see anyone on the bench where she and Sabrina talked before their match. Alicia's match, anyway. I'm so sorry, Sabrina. The Hard Times graduate would visit her alma mater on Monday to check up on her. Sabrina wouldn’t miss a day for anything less than a compound fracture. Even then, it would depend on the bone.

A footfall down the corridor snapped Alicia's attention over her left shoulder. A few seconds later, she heard echoes of some chatter. Production crew, most likely. They were discussing "gobos," whatever those were. She turned her attention back to the locker room and dollied her head around the crack in the door like a boom camera, surveying the rest of the room through the slit in the door. Warm bodies. Thank goodness. She could breathe. She could let her guard down.

Most importantly, she could get her stuff.

Alicia stepped into the locker room. There was her equipment bag against the wall, right by the door where she left it. No sign of her gym bag--except in her locker. Alicia turned to the pair of wrestlers seated on a bench across the room. She recognized the pair: Kat Cable and Tracy "Trace" Roote, the duo of no-DQ street fight specialists known as I.T. Factor.

"Hi, I'm just here picking up my stuff. I'm Alicia."

Tracy looked up with a neutral expression. With an average height and build, no visible tattoos or piercings, and a quiet disposition, the wrestler in the ill-fitting sky blue polo shirt and khakis put a great deal of effort into presenting herself as unassuming. Her knuckles, though, told a different story. The light pink scar tissue spanning both fists peaked and troughed like a topographical map of the Himalayas. 

Kat looked similarly unimpressed. Short, heavy-set, and sturdy, she had been a menace on the rugby field before giving it all up to menace the tech field. She fit right in at Queens of War. Unlike her partner, the supervisor of I.T. Factor commanded attention–and not just because of the pressed white button-down and black tie. Bright green streaks popped against a head of straightened black hair that hung a few inches past her shoulder. A full sleeve of tattoos written in some sort of computer code spanned Kat's right arm from shoulder to wrist, and a face full of piercings stood out against her dark brown complexion, the most outstanding of which was a thick, silvery septum piercing shaped like the Greek letter omega. 

"We know you," replied Kat. They hadn't been hired for their people skills.

Silence hung in the air like a fart. "Oh! Great!" sputtered Alicia, trying to light a conversational match without a matchbook. "Hey, did you see anyone touch my stuff?"

"The stuff that's locked inside your locker? No, I haven't seen anyone touch it," the IT supervisor deadpanned back. Alicia really appreciated the sarcasm. 

With a quiet nod and a smile, Alicia popped open the combination lock, snatched her gym and hockey bags, and sped out the door before she accidentally kicked off another blood feud. She maintained a hurried gait all the way back to where she could see the star dressing rooms. Alicia thought she heard someone shouting in anger at the other end of the corridor, although she couldn’t hear anyone responding. 

Then she saw him. Tall. Thin. Visual noise personified: an anemic-looking rail of a man with curly, dyed-white hair down to his back. He wore royal blue and silver Lycra bell-bottoms, a white leather jacket with tassels on the arms like bird wings, bright yellow shutter shades, a bright red top hat with a flamingo feather in the brim, no shirt, and about three too many belts. 

He appeared to be shouting into a comically thin flip phone clutched to his ear, "Wot? Wazzat? 'at's gubbins! Rubbish, mate! Are you 'avin' a laugh? Are you takin' the piss? Wot? Say 'at again? No, mate, this is 9429. Sorry bruv, I didn't mean nuffin' by it. It weren't nuffin' personal. Say sorry to your ol' lady for me. 'Ello? Nerve of these people!" 

The lead singer and guitarist of The Exploronauts shook his head in indignation as he snapped the mobile phone shut, brought it to his hip, and dropped it on the ground. Upon closer inspection, Keven realized his pants didn't come with pockets. He turned a full circle in the corridor and picked up his mobile without breaking stride and continued down the hallway unperturbed.

It couldn't be him, but it couldn't be anyone else. Alicia recalled the biggest news story to hit the grocery store checkout lane all year: Giselle and Keven Se7en had just gotten back together again for the second time. She couldn’t imagine a gossip magazine making something like that up.

Both guests arrived at Giselle's door and knocked almost at once. That sewed up the category of Most Famous Person Ever Met for maybe ever. Alicia had to say something. "Oh. My stars. You're Keven Se7en! I know you!"

The rockstar's thin, magenta lips drew up in a smile. Alicia wondered what shade it was. "Oi! You're a fan?"

Alicia nodded, eliciting an even broader smile. "Totally. I love all your music." 

"You fancy me an' the lads playin'? What's your favorite jam?"

He called her bluff. Alicia scrambled for a title. Oh no what have I done? "Your most recent." She knocked on the door again, much harder this time. 

"The one about my nan dyin'?"

"Really moved me," said Alicia, making eye contact somehow. Hurry up, Giselle. I flew too close to the sun. 

It wasn't enough of an answer. Mr. Se7en stood with his arms crossed, fidgeting. "What parts did you like, exactly?"

The door swung open, and the fashion icon emerged into the hallway, cradling her pink and orange Persian cat. She was dressed head to toe in a fully pink and yellow Party Girl-branded ensemble. A shiny, sort of tiny, pink leather backpack hung from her shoulders, while a purse slightly larger than a pad of sticky notes dangled from her arm by a spaghetti-thin pink leather strap.

While both tag partners walked away from the match wearing a healthy collection of scuffs, scrapes, cuts, and bruises, all of Giselle's disappeared under a puffy coat and pants with way too many pockets. Somehow, her face remained entirely unblemished. She didn’t look like she had been in a fight; she looked ready for a night on the town.

Giselle's eyes went first to her tag partner for the night and then to her re-boyfriend. She threw her arms around the rockstar, smooching the air about three inches from his face. "Kevvie! Mwa! So good to see you. How's the tour going?"

Keven's eyes remained locked on Alicia while embracing Giselle in his arms. "Oi! There's me cheeky luv. Howya doin', Pickle?"

The tan in Giselle’s cheeks turned a stark vermilion as she shrugged free of his arms. That near-impenetrable Look had been tested, but it didn’t crack. "Kevvie! I told you not to call me that! It's not nice," she said, putting a point on the final word. 

She closed her eyes and nuzzled the bewildered feline in her arms. The Look melted into an actual smile as Giselle caressed its soft fur with her cheek and kissed it on the head more times than Alicia could count. "Party Girl haffa go now, okay? I wuv you sooooo much! I'm gonna miss you!" She turned and dumped the confused, chubby little darling into the reluctant arms of the Prince of Synth Punk Fusion (self-proclaimed).

"Oh. This is Alicia," said Giselle, verbally acknowledging her tag partner for the first time. "Her ride bailed on her or something, so I’m taking her home. Kev-Se7, would you be a sweetie and take Mr. Cattywampus back to the compound and make sure you feed him?"

The moment Mr. Cattywampus changed hands, the switch flipped from "docile" to "hostile." The claws came out, sinking first into leather and then man-flesh, illustrating why humans evolved to wear shirts. 

"Owowowow oi! This li'l furball ain't riding with me! Ain't you got Janice 'ere wiv you? Make 'er do it!" Keven protested.

"She's busy. You two have fun, alright?" Giselle maintained that brilliant smile despite Keven’s clear frustration. She turned to face Alicia for the first time and pre-excused the incoming confession with a shrug. "Wampy doesn't like riding in the Pink Lightning. I forgot until we were already like halfway, so your seat might smell a little. It's fine. The maids say it eventually washes out."

Keven fumed, stomping back up the corridor he came from. "I'm 'apposed ta be 'avin' a pint an' a bit of the sniff right now wiv me mates an' I'm babysittin' a cat. 'umiliatin'."

Wow, Alicia marveled. He's even more British in person.

Giselle turned and started towards the VIP parking garage before realizing she still hadn't asked an important question. "Where do you live, anyway?"

Alicia suddenly felt hesitant to ask for the favor she was promised. "North part of Stokely. It's a bit of a drive."

Giselle waved it off with a dismissive little head-shake. "It's cool. What's that close to? Like, what? Lake View? Gold Coast?"

"I don't live in Chicago. It's like a 40-minute drive from Beaver. Opposite direction." Alicia scrunched her face up remorsefully. "Sorry." Giselle stared at her passenger with a broad smile that never touched her eyes. "Sorry," Alicia mumbled again, hoping maybe that one would work.

The Pink Lightning looked like nothing Alicia had ever seen--at least not in person. It wasn't a car; it was a hot pink jet engine on wheels. The kind with a swooshy, sleek design filled with pits and crannies and aerodynamics that probably made some people very impressed. And it was tiny. Having shopped the big and tall section enough times to have a preferred label, just looking at the thing made her knees cramp. Giselle produced a heart-shaped pink and yellow Party Girl keychain remote from her purse and twirled it around her finger. She popped the trunk, slipped off her backpack, and crushed it into a storage compartment that looked more like a rear glove box.

The six-foot-three, 193-pound professional wrestler tumbled into a bucket seat that somehow felt lower than the ground. Alicia scrunched with her knees to her chest, smothered under the weight of her luggage.

"Sorry, can you buckle me?" Alicia asked. Click.

Giselle checked her mirrors, then looked behind her, then checked her mirrors, paused, then checked her mirrors. "Okay," said Giselle, checking her mirrors. It was the most tense Alicia had ever felt sitting in a stationary vehicle. "Right, okay." She checked the mirrors again.

"Everything alright?" asked Alicia.

Giselle remained in park, still watching her mirrors like they were about to escape. "Yeah. Just- okay, here we go."

Climbing into the supercar had been painful and awkward, but it wasn't bad compared to the rest of the drive. The pins and needles had already started in Alicia's right arm by the time they hit the on-ramp. 

"You know, I didn't just want to talk about… her," said Giselle. Alicia glanced over to find a pair of ice blue eyes looking back. "So let's save that for now. I wanted to talk about tonight! Weren't we just the best together?" 

Alicia blinked as she tried to process the statement. She nodded and breathed a sigh of relief she didn’t know she had been holding.

"Right?! Like, I go well with everyone, but nobody goes well with me! But you and me? We've had one match together, and I promise you, we could easily beat 90% of the teams in the company! Minimum. We're perfect together, like peanut butter and jellies!" A smile crept across Giselle's face like she had a secret to spill. "You know what's in my backpack?" Alicia shook her head. "Guess!" 

"A hat?"

Giselle's nose scrunched up in disgust. "Ew. Are you Amish? No. The Queen's Decree! As soon as your hand's healed, we wait for the right time, like right after the champions have a really hard match or something, I sign the Decree, and we take our shot against them on the next show! That can be our path to the titles! Doesn't that sound awesome? I have a great feeling about us!"

"Uh," Alicia interjected.

Giselle glanced at her passenger, seemingly confused by the silence. "What? Oh, right. What do you think about the idea?"

Alicia’s shock gave way to a smile. The numbness in her arms had been worth it. "If you're serious, then yes. My answer is yes. Let's do it! Let's win some gold!"

The fashion magnate smiled at her new partner. "And call me Party Girl. When we're together, let's do the brand."

"What do you mean?" Alicia asked, raising an eyebrow.

Party Girl spoke in a clinical tone, "You know. Be the gimmick. So let's start calling each other by our ring names all the time, even when we're off-camera. That way, it’ll seem more natural and feel authentic when we’re live! People should think we hang out. I don't know how, but people can tell if we don't. I learned that in my first public breakup with Keven. You seem really nice, so it should be easy for us to pretend like we're friends! I just need to know you're committed."

Alicia nodded. "Of course."

Party Girl smiled. "Thanks, The Goon. I knew you were my perfect partner! Now we just need a name. How about Party Girl and the Party Girls?"

"No. What? There's just one of me," Alicia objected.

Party Girl tried again. "What about Party Girl and the Party Girlz, with a zed?"

"You mean a Z?" asked Alicia.

"A zed. That's what Keven calls it," Party Girl explained. "He's soooo British or Australian. The cameras love me when we’re a couple."

"That's nice, Party Girl. And no, I don't like it with a zed, either."

"God! This is impossible! We'll never come up with a name." The celebrity wrestler reached for the CD player and pressed play, flooding the car with a deafening synth-punk fusion ballad. "Did you ever hear my single with Kevvie?" Party Girl asked. Then she started singing.

Yeah, that's right I'm the Party Girl

My boyfriend's Keven, I'm the Party Girl

You know you're jealous of Party Girl

Don't get jealous, be like Party Girl

Get like me, get like Party Girl

For 21 minutes, Alicia experienced death with a pulse. In its cold embrace, she learned the number of times "Party Girl" could be rhymed with "Party Girl" in the span of two minutes and thirty-seven seconds. Far too many. An unacceptable amount. 

They exited the highway onto Cherry Blvd and drove past Nothin' But Fish. The roof of knit-together branches swallowed the moonlight, lending an eerie darkness to the sudden silence as Party Girl mercy-killed the music.

"Okay, Gis- Party Girl, you really need to pay close attention driving through here or I promise you will get lost going out," Alicia warned. "I'm not kidding. The first time I tried to get out after dark, I got lost for half an hour and wound up back at the house.

"It's fine. I just naturally have a really good sense of direction!" Party Girl bragged. 

Alicia mentally rolled her eyes. She refused to be held responsible when the authorities sent out a search party 48 hours from now. Several turns later, buried among the overgrown trees flanking the roads and smothering out the street lights, there she stood: Castle Winthrop. 

"We're here," Alicia announced with an elegant sweep of her hand. 

"This is your place?" Party Girl asked flatly.

"The basement is," said Alicia. 

Her new tag partner hesitated, daunted by the enormity of her next question. "Can I use your bathroom?"

That one caught Alicia off-guard. "Sure. I'm guessing it's a bit smaller than what you're used to," she chuckled while nudging the car door open with her head. "Watch your step. It can get pretty-" Gopher hole again. "Yeah." 

Something sat wrong in Alicia's stomach. She couldn't place it until she saw it: an unusual brightness up the road behind them, a little over a block-and-a-half away. Headlights. 

Headlights that went dark when she noticed them. Party Girl and Alicia shuffled side-by-side in the pale glow of dim, distant street lights beneath a thatched roof of bare branches. 

"Sorry, it gets pretty-" Alicia postponed her apology until her eyes finished adjusting. Party Girl reached into her purse for her cellular phone and flipped it open. It wasn't much, but it was light. "Thanks! I bet that comes in handy."

"I'll get you one," Party Girl replied. "Where are we going?"

"You don't have to get me anything. Thank you. You don't need to do that. Please don't do that. Please. Okay?" she pleaded. Alicia pointed toward the dread foliage portal. "Through here." 

Thankfully, it was winter, which meant the spiders in the bushes had all migrated to their winter home, which was also hers. Party Girl looked at her host, confused. Alicia clambered into the cave of branches and peeled back as much of the overgrowth as she could to allow Party Girl a mostly unimpeded path through. Six steps down. Keys, door, Jenetti the Yeti. Then she turned on a lamp. 

Alicia slipped off her shoes and dropped her bags in the entryway. She pointed up the staircase. "Up the stairs and to the right. I'll take you." Then she turned on a lamp. Up the steps. Then she turned on a lamp. And another. And two more down the hall. "Through that door."

Party Girl hesitated. "Why do you have so many lamps?"

Alicia pointed up at the ceiling. "Oh. There aren't any lights. See?"

"No, I get that. This is, like, a lot of lamps." That perplexed look turned to one of realization. Oh no. Party Girl gasped. "Are you afraid of the dark?!" 

Alicia froze. "No."

"Oh my God you are! That's so-" Party Girl's eyes went wide as she cupped both hands over her mouth. "That is so cute."

Alicia's cheeks burned molten. "I'm really not, Giselle. Party Girl. I'm not."

A knowing smile seeped across Party Girl’s lips. "Mm-hm. Through this door, you said?"

Alicia nodded. "Yeah. I'll be downstairs."

At the bottom of the steps, Alicia pretended to do something besides stew in embarrassment. She hefted her bags and headed down the hallway towards her room. Then she- no. Not this time, she didn’t. She kicked open the door at the end of the hall and stepped inside. She didn't need the lamp by the door either. The dresser? The one on the dresser, yes. The soles of her feet tingled as she pattered nervously across the hardwood and flipped the light on. She shot a look over her shoulder, back to the darkened entrance of the bedroom, then to the egress window above the bed. The coast was clear. 

I live here. Why am I scared? Alicia slung her equipment bag against the wall and tossed the red nylon gym bag onto the bed, then hurried back out of her bedroom. She turned the corner. A figure bathed in shadow stood an arm's length away. Tall. Lanky. Long hair. "AAAA- Party Girl, hi!" And pink.

"You can turn on the lights," said Alicia's celebrity guest. "I'm not gonna tell anyone. Who would even care?" Then Party Girl turned on a lamp. "I want all the lights on when we start talking, anyway." Alicia invited her into the bedroom and pulled out the desk chair for her guest before taking a seat on the bed. "First, tell me what you know about..." Party Girl couldn't quite bring herself to say the name. "... Her."

Alicia shrugged. "Pretty much nothing. I know you had a match against her last year that you-" Party Girl shot her a look. "-Did well in. I don't remember seeing her after that."

"What do you remember about her before that?"

"Didn't watch," Alicia responded.

Party Girl looked shocked "You didn't watch QoW before you joined? Me either. Wrestling's stupid." Alicia squinted as she tried to recall how the conversation got here. The cheer vanished from Party Girl’s voice. "I don't know if you can believe this, but I know what it's like not to have a lot of friends in the back. She started coming after me because someone planted her belt in my backpack. I don't know how they got it, but when she found out I had it, she wouldn't leave me alone. It didn't matter she got it back. She's crazy. She's fucking crazy. She-" A croak caught in the star's throat. "She left things. I'd find these… these fishhooks. Everywhere. I'd go back to my dressing room after a match, and I could tell she'd been there. She'd follow me around the arena. I knew she was following me, but I couldn't see her."

"She did that to me before the match! That's why I didn't have my equipment bag. Black Violet was inside the locker room with me, so I ran."

Party Girl stared at Alicia. "Did you check your stuff?" 

Alicia stared back. She rushed across the room, ripped open the equipment bag, and dumped out the contents. She examined every pocket, zipper, and pouch. Nothing. 

"What about that one?" asked Party Girl, pointing to the gym bag on Alicia's bed.

"It was in my locker." Silence. Alicia's eyes went wide. "No, Giselle, it was in my locker." She stared at the maroon nylon bag and walked ponderously to the bed. Her voice quivered. "It was in my locker." 

She pinched the zipper and drew the bag open. Work clothes, purse, wallet, keys, water bottle, lunch bag, and a bottle of H-Twenty. She reached for the bottle. Goosebumps and a spiderlike tingle raced up her arm as her fingers closed around it. She could tell from the weight it was empty. Unfortunately, she was wrong. Something had been crumpled up and left inside. It wasn't paper--maybe a magazine ad.

Or a page from tonight's event program. 

Alicia fumbled the plastic cap open and gently extracted the page promoting her tag match with Iron Maiden against the Two-Woman Army. A hole was torn out where Alicia's throat should've been. At the bottom of the bottle, there was one more gift: a single, rusted fishhook. She showed the bottle to Party Girl.

"My wallet was in that bag. My driver's license! Oh gosh. Oh my gosh. What do I do?"

Party Girl shot Alicia a more-bad-news look. "She wasn't done with me until I fought her." She pointed to each region as she described the extent of the damage. "Concussion, three broken ribs, sprained wrist, dislocated elbow, 14 stitches. I'm sorry." 

Don't get jealous, be like Party Girl

Get like me, get like Party Girl

Party Girl pulled out her pink mobile phone and flipped it open. Alicia sat on her bed, staring at the mangled page in silence as her guest pecked away at the keypad.

Don't get jealous, be like Party Girl

Get like me, get like Party Girl

"Yeah, I've got to go," said Party Girl, standing up from her chair and putting the phone away. "There's a thing downtown." Alicia walked her new partner to the door, nausea boiling in her stomach. "Hey, cheer up. We're a team now! Do you lock your door?" asked Party Girl as they stepped outside.

"Yeah," answered Alicia.

"Just not this time?"

Alicia paused. "It's a bad habit."

Party Girl looked back at her meaningfully. "You might want to fix that."

Alicia escorted her through the hall of branches back to her car and waved goodbye as the star U-turned and headed two blocks down and remembered to turn right. The car she saw before was no longer parked by the side of the road.

Alicia returned to her bedroom to inspect the empty H-Twenty bottle, but her eyes went to the gym bag she found it in. It felt like an invasion. Imagining those pale, clammy hands rifling through her belongings and peering into her life turned Alicia’s blood ice-cold. 

At least her room looked normal. She checked again, searching for anything that seemed out of place. Alicia glanced up at the egress window. Something looked off. She took a step forward, and then another. She climbed up onto the bed for a closer look and nearly fell backwards as she whimpered out a quiet scream. In the thick, caked-on dust of the unwashed window, she saw the unmistakable smudge of a human hand.