Alicia Goon 029: Celebrity endorsement

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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. Though 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 had 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 was 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 AM had arrived, and it was time to pay the paranoia toll. Alicia rolled out of bed and checked herself in the standing mirror next to the closet. 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. Alicia 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, and through it would pour the blackhearted, wild-eyed fury Alicia had loosed upon herself. Fists would pound and pound and pound and the old bathroom door would rattle and splinter at the hinges and give way. There she would stand, toe to toe, eye to bloodshot eye with Black Violet. Fortunately, that didn't happen.

It was actually something worse. 

Alicia reached for a towel through the half-open curtain when something on a section of the varnished wood door to her left drew her attention. Less than a foot away from her face, 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 was wrong with the door. Then it moved. Spider. That's a wolf spider. And big. She wished it was only as big as the palm of Robert’s hand.

Alicia slowly retracted her arm from the towel rack. It moved again, higher up the door. She didn't want to smash it with her fist and get another handful of spider chili. Just within reach, Alicia saw the toilet paper hanging from its roller. 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? wondered Alicia. 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 grabbed the entire toilet paper roll in her soggy left hand, ripping it free from the feeble plastic roller as she swung the fluffy, white bludgeon at the intruder a millisecond too late. She missed and struck the door low. Low, and very hard, sending the wolf spider tumbling off the door and onto the toilet paper roll in her hand. It seemed Maybe-Ralph had a plan and crawled inside the cardboard tube. 

"NO!" shrieked Alicia as she dropped her two-ply weapon onto the perpetually damp carpeted bathroom floor. "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 at Alicia like she was the one who should leave. Then it turned and fled up the wall and through a vent, out of sight. Her quarry was gone. 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 squat-walked back out. She semi-confidently stood back upright as she passed the set of four large, unguarded windows and that heavy door 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.

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

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

"Ralph!" chided Robert.

Alicia's countenance grew dire, 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 lowered her scrutinous gaze, nodding, and regretted having pressed 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, face pursed in a guilty little smile. "Who did you have over last night?"

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

"I saw a really fancy sports car drive away."

Oh. Fancy sports car. "Oh! Uh, Par- Giselle Tillman, actually," Alicia answered, 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 fading 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, eliciting an eye-roll. "We just chatted for a bit about maybe teaming up."

He 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 thin white text that read "I'm a Cereal Killer" next to a picture of a spoon ominously dripping milk.

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

Alicia smiled and brought both hands to her forehead in an exaggerated pantomime of frustration. "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." She started laughing louder and much more than she expected. For some reason, she had always thought the Giselle Tillman/Party Girl character existed purely for the cameras. It never occurred to Alicia 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 at Party Girl. She playfully slapped Robert 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. Alicia pushed her anxiety to one side. Today was the most important day of her adult life, and she was ready for it.

"Wait, hold 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 Beaver’s DAM (Downtown Area Metro) bus terminal and the front door of Hard Times provided ample time to learn of nature’s cruelty firsthand. The moment Alicia rounded the corner of 33rd and Travis and glimpsed the warm glow of the Hard Times parking lot lights, the aspiring wrestler broke out into a run, covering the final two blocks as quickly as the traffic lights would allow (not very). She raced past the dead 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 door, Alicia could make out a head of brilliant red hair belonging to Helene Rivera. About 50 or so feet from the front entrance, Alicia slowed to a brisk walk—about three seconds too late to avoid Helene spotting her tearing across the parking lot in her work flats, purse clutched to her side 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 rookie whose career she held in the palm of her hand and rose from her seat, gesturing to the back office door in the corner. "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," Helene answered, striding through the back office hallway and past Sabrina's closed office door. "She's taking the time off she needs." The three-time former Queen of Queens Champion reached into her pinstripe suit pants for a set of keys and unlocked the door with the golden H.R. plaque and invited Alicia inside.

As Alicia took her seat, she noticed a heap of shattered ceramic that once was a coffee mug at the bottom of the wastebasket beside the desk. The framed newspaper article covering Helene's first championship win was conspicuously missing from the wall, as well.

Helene settled into the 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." With her good hand, Alicia wiped away the tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

Helene plucked an engraved, gold fountain pen from its stand as she continued, "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 slowly extended the pen, but pulled back when Alicia reached out to take it. The industry veteran locked eyes with the young wrestler and her voice grew stern, "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

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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 rounded the corner and 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; 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. They were discussing "gobos," whatever those were. Production crew, most likely. Alicia turned her attention back to the locker room. Alicia 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. Thank goodness. Warm bodies. She could breathe. She didn't have to keep guard up. Most importantly, she could get her stuff. 

Alicia stepped inside 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. Through the steel mesh, she saw the white and mauve nylon bag sitting inside the bottom of the locker. Alicia turned to the pair of wrestlers sitting on the middle 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, Kat commanded attention as the supervisor of I.T. Factor–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," remarked 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 in 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, she popped open the combination lock, snatched her gym and hockey bags, and sped out the door at a walk-run before she accidentally kicked off another blood feud. She maintained that hurried gait all the way back to where she could see the star dressing rooms. Around the corner at the other end of the corridor, Alicia thought she heard someone shouting in anger or annoyance, although she couldn't hear anyone responding. 

The one doing the shouting turned the corner. 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 long, dangling tassels on the arms that looked like bird wings, bright yellow shutter shades, a bright red top hat with a flamingo feather in the black brim, no shirt, and about three too many belts. 

He appeared to be shouting into a comically thin blue and silver flip phone clutched tight to his ear, "Wot? Wazzat? 'at's gubbins! Rubbish, mate! Are you 'avin' a laugh? Are you takin' the piss? Wot? Sorry, 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!" 

It couldn't be him, but it couldn't be anyone else. Alicia recalled grocery store checkout lane magazine rack headline that Keven Se7en and Giselle had just gotten back together again for the second time. She couldn't imagine a gossip magazine making something like that up. 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. 

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'?" He called her bluff. "What's your favorite jam?"

Alicia scrambled for a name. Oh no what have I done. She couldn't think of one off the top of her head, and the other parts weren't much help, either. "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?"

A door swung open like a hot pink hand grenade. Giselle's dressing room didn't so much sting to look at as it slapped Alicia across the eyeballs hard enough to mentally knock the wind out of her. Giselle emerged into the hallway dressed head to toe in a fully pink and yellow Party Girl-branded ensemble, cradling the plump pink-and-orange Persian cat in her arms. A shiny, sort of tiny, pink leather backpack hung over her shoulders, and a purse slightly larger than a pad of sticky notes dangled from her arm by a spaghetti-thin pink leather strap. 

What Alicia found most remarkable about Giselle's outfit was the way it didn't make her stand out: while both tag partners walked away from their 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. Her face somehow 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 darted first to her tag partner for the night and then to her re-boyfriend. She threw her arms around the rock star, 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 scarlet hue 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. 

Giselle closed her eyes and nuzzled the bewildered pink-and-orange feline with her cheek. The Look melted into an actual smile as Giselle caressed her cheek against its soft fur and kissed its head more times than Alicia could count. "Party Girl haffa go now, okay? I wuv you sooooo much! I'm gonna miss you!" 

"Her ride bailed on her or something, so I'm taking her home. Kev-se7, would you be a sweetie and take Mr. Cattywampus to the compound and make sure you feed him? Oh. This is Alicia," said Giselle, verbally acknowledging her tag partner for the first time. She turned and dumped the confused, chubby little darling into the reluctant arms of the Prince of Synth Punk Fusion (self-proclaimed). 

The moment Mr. Cattywampus changed hands, the switch flipped from "docile" to "hostile," and 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!" 

"You two have fun, alright?" Giselle maintained that brilliant smile throughout Keven's protestations. 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 back up the corridor he came from as Giselle ignored him. "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 had 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 near? Like, what? Lake View? Gold Coast?"

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

The car looked like nothing Alisha 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 weightlifter and 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?" 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 trying to escape. "Yeah. Just- okay, here we go."

Climbing into the supercar was 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." Alicia glanced over to find a pair of ice blue eyes looking back. "So let's save that for now, because first I wanted to talk about tonight! Weren't we just the best together?" 

Alicia blinked as she tried to process the statement. She breathed a sigh of relief she didn't know she had been holding. Giselle felt the synchronicity, too. Alicia nodded back. 

"Right?! Like, I go well with everyone, but nobody goes well with me! But you and I? We've had one match together and I promise you, we could easily beat 90% of the teams in this company! Minimum. We're like peanut butter and jellies: we're perfect together." A smile crept across Giselle's face like she had a secret to spill. "You know what I have 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? We're so amazing! 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. "If you're serious, then yes. My answer is yes. Let's do it! Let's win some gold!" Alicia felt a weight lift from her shoulders she hadn't known she was carrying. The numbness in her arms was worth it. 

"And call me Party Girl. When we're together, let's do the brand."

Those words didn't make sense together in that order. "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'll make it seem more natural and it'll 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 I am."

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 protested.

Party Girl made her next pitch, "What about Party Girl and the Party Girlz, with a zed?"

"You mean a Z?" asked Alicia.

"A zed. That's what Kevin calls it," Party Girl explained. "He's soooo British or Australian. It's great publicity 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." Party Girl got over it the moment the last syllable exited her lips. She 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?" 

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 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. 

Mercifully, they had exited the highway and gone all the way up Cherry Blvd 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.

"I'm fine. I just naturally have a really good sense of direction!" Party Girl bragged. Alicia mentally rolled her eyes. She would not be held responsible when the authorities sent out a search party 48 hours from now.

Alicia found the contrast of Party Girl's custom ride with the old houses amusing in a way that was hard to explain. Seeing worn, sparsely maintained houses from 60 years ago share a street with a piece of machinery that looked like it came from the future felt extremely weird to experience firsthand. Their journey had come to an end, however. 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. 

Party Girl was unimpressed, to put it mildly. "This is your place?"

"The basement is," answered 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 sure it's a bit smaller than what you're used to," Alicia 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. The two 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?"

Alicia stepped over her guest's offer with a plea, "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. They had arrived. Alicia pointed toward the dread foliage portal. "Through there." 

Thankfully, it was winter, which meant the spiders in the bushes had all migrated to their winter home home which was also hers. Party Girl looked at her host, confused. Alicia clambered into the cave of branches and peeled back as many branches as she could to allow Party Girl a mostly unimpeded path through the overgrowth. 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. Two more halfway down the hall. "Through that door."

A perplexed smile seeped across Party Girl's lips. "Why do you have so many lamps?"

With a nod toward the ceiling, Alicia replied. "Oh. There aren't any lights. See?"

"No, I get that. This is, like, a lot of lamps." That perplexed smile turned to 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."

Those beach-tanned cheeks turned up in a knowing smile. "Mm-hm. Through this door, you said?"

The regretful host nodded. "Yeah. I'll be downstairs."

At the bottom of the steps, Alicia pretended to do something besides stew in embarrassment. Hefting her bags once again, she headed down the hallway to the right towards her room. Then she- no. Not this time, she didn't. At the end of the hall, she kicked open the door and walked into her room. 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 gestured for her to come into the bedroom and pulled out the desk chair for her guest, then sat down on the bed. "First, tell me what you know about..." Party Girl couldn't quite bring herself to say the name. "... Her," she prompted. 

Alicia shrugged. "Pretty much nothing. I know you had a match against her last year that you-" Party Girl shot her a look, but not with a capital-L. "-did well in. I don't remember seeing her after that."

"What do you remember about her before that?"

"Didn't watch," Alicia responded.

"You didn't watch QoW before you joined?" asked Party Girl in shock, which settled into a smile. "Me either. Wrestling's stupid." Alicia squinted as she tried to recall how the conversation got here. "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 got into my dressing room. 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 had 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 for the match. Black Violet was in there. I knew she was, so I ran out."

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. 

"Wait, 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." Alicia walked ponderously to the bed, staring at the maroon nylon. She shook her head and her voice quivered. "It was in my locker." 

Alicia pinched the zipper and drew the bag open. Work clothes. Her purse and wallet, 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 with the plastic cap until it opened and gently extracted the page promoting that night's 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." 

Alicia stared at the bottle in her hand.

Don't get jealous, be like Party Girl

Get like me, get like Party Girl

"One second," said Party Girl, reaching into her purse and withdrawing a pink mobile phone and flipped it open. "Hold on, text message." Alicia sat on her bed, staring at the mangled page in silence as her guest pecked away at her cellular phone.

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

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–not just of Alicia's privacy but of something personal. Imagining Black Violet's clammy hands prying open a window into Alicia's life and peering through raised broad patches of ice-cold goosebumps on Alicia's neck and arms. 

At least the room looked normal. She checked again, searching the major features and landmarks for anything out of place. Alicia glanced up at the egress window; something looked off about it. Alicia 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.