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Mild sports violence
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After a solid week of watching Connie Rocket matches from dinner to bedtime, the encounter now felt strangely personal. Alicia held onto the hood of her ivory wool coat with one hand and her gym bag with the other as she descended the snow-dusted ramp. She saw Sabrina standing by the talent entrance holding the door open and tried to calm her nerves before making conversation. Breathe in, breathe out. It didn’t work. She was hopeful about the next breath, but alas. Sabrina was getting Alicia With Nerves tonight.
"Hey! Look who it is!" the veteran shouted into the darkness. For some reason, it always seemed more appropriate to shout in these situations at night. "How you feeling?"
The light momentarily stung Alicia's eyes as she crossed the threshold from the parking lot into the backstage area. She noticed a second chair next to the door by the security guard. Sabrina had been waiting for her to arrive.
“Nervous,” Alicia said, eliciting a nod from her trainer. “But ready. I wish I could get in there now and just be in it.” That comment, or at least the sentiment behind it, earned a slap on the shoulder.
"You'll be there soon enough. While we're down here, let me give you the tour. We kind of have an arrangement with The Plunj since we pull in more than half their money, so we've got our own accommodations. There's the trainer's room," said Sabrina, helpfully pointing to a door with a sign that read "Trainer's Room."
They rounded the corner and entered a hallway with 10 or so doors split evenly between the two sides. A placard had been affixed to each door, each bearing a name. There was Queen of Queens Champion “Rockstar” Jackie Skinner, Lady Gallows, Anne Boulder, Kendra Terminus, and more—all names Alicia recognized and revered. The two final doors on the right belonged to Party Girl and Mr. Cattywampus. Alicia could take or leave the first, and the second one confused her.
Both doors and the wall between them had been decorated with pink and yellow hearts. A massive vinyl sticker hung on Party Girl’s door bearing the Party Girl brand logo: an obnoxiously fluorescent yellow heart bordered with a hot pink chain. In the center, her cloyingly pink slogan “Get like me!” leapt out in her signature puffy lettering.
"Big names go here. Bust your ass and you'll earn one someday. Past here is backstage and production. The pay window is past that, but you don't need to worry about that for a while. It's an office, by the way. It's not actually a window. And these are the two locker rooms. The roster tends to get a bit cliquey, so it's just easier having two," Sabrina explained as she pulled open the door on the left side of the corridor. "Not sure if anyone's here yet, but you can at least get set up."
The locker area itself was well kept and just as well equipped, with unscuffed red walls, a remarkably stain-free black carpet, eight shower stalls, two rows of benches by the sizeable lockers, and even a pair of individual changing rooms for the more modest bloodsport combatants on the roster. Only one other competitor appeared to be getting set up at a locker way back in the corner.
"Layla!" shouted Sabrina, startling Alicia out of her self-guided visual tour. "Been a while! I heard you were tearing it up in the UK."
The tall woman in the back flashed a look of recognition, then a look Alicia couldn't place, which quickly transitioned into a warm smile on her naturally bronze complexion.
"Sabrina! I'm sorry we never got that rematch. I've gotten a lot better."
"Hey, there's still time. And I've seen tapes. I can tell you're putting in the work," said Sabrina with genuine admiration in her voice. "And when they book it, you can recount the lights and make sure they're all there."
Layla took notice of the barb but seemingly no offense. "Who's this?" she asked, pointing a thumb toward Alicia before realizing the newcomer could probably speak. "Sorry. I'm Layla Navarro," she said, shaking Alicia's hand.
"Alicia Winthrop." She caught a glance inside the visitor's locker. Bundled in a heap on top of a black gym bag was something that looked like a towel. No - it was a mask. Green and silver. "Phenom?!" More than starstruck, the rookie almost felt faint. "You- I saw you both- your match was-" She gestured the rest, and although she felt it mostly came across, Alicia eventually found her words, "The first match I ever saw was you two!"
"That's right; I remember you said that," said Sabrina. A look of realization flashed across her face. "Your excursion year must almost be up. I bet you're ready."
"Yeah. I've enjoyed it, but I'm looking forward to having a promotion to call home," said Layla. She seemed to notice the newcomer's confusion and explained, "I trained with All-Star Wrestling. The final part of training is spending a year traveling to different promotions to learn all you can before returning to San Juan and joining the roster. Hence…" she trailed off, pointing back and forth between herself and Sabrina. Layla finished arranging her locker before shutting and locking it. "Hey, I've got to see Allen and Helene about something before they get too busy. Catch up after?"
Sabrina nodded toward the door. "I'm actually heading that way now." She turned to Alicia and indicated the locker next to the traveling wrestler's. "Put your stuff in that locker there and start getting ready. If you were booked to fight on the main card, someone from production would call you back, but since you're on the pre-show, you'll just have to wait in gorilla."
Alicia blinked. "In what?"
"Gorilla position," clarified Sabrina before realizing that she hadn't clarified anything. "It's the spot right behind the curtain leading down the entrance ramp."
"Why's it called that?" asked Alicia.
A quick sigh escaped Sabrina's lips. "It's- I'll tell you later. Can you focus? At 6:15, go out those doors and turn left. Go through the black curtains and you'll be in a production area. It'll be dark, but keep walking and look for a desk with a light. It has the book and the format sheet. You can't miss it. Wait there for your cue."
"I don't know what any of those terms are. I'm just going to wait behind the curtain."
"Get yourself prepared, and I'll see you after," instructed Sabrina. She could see the anxiety welling up as Alicia shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "You've got half an hour. Don't drive yourself crazy waiting back here. If you used to do something before a game to get your head right, this would be the time. You've done everything you can up until this point. It's too late to squeeze anything else in now, so all you can do is be ready."
The former opponents exited the locker room together, leaving Alicia to change into her ring gear in overpowering silence. How did she deal with nerves in hockey? Did she even get them? Instead, she thought back to the night Langston U pulled off the threepeat. The MVP game. Hat trick, two assists, minimal time in the box. For her, it had been the perfect final performance of a decorated career. For the other team, it might as well have been a tooth-loosening appointment. Heck of a high to go out on, thought the former hockey star.
Alicia wanted to linger on the trophy as she celebrated with her team at center ice, surrounded by the makeshift confetti of discarded gloves, helmets, and sticks. She could still recall the weight of the silver cup as she circled the rink, holding it aloft and basking in the cheers for the prize they had fought for. As much as she wanted to remain there, replaying the moment, her mind's eye wandered. She was 11 years old again, standing by the player's door with Nicole, the blonde-haired, freckled sharpshooter of girls' 12-and-under rec league hockey. Alicia couldn't remember the name of the team they played on, but she and Nicole called themselves the Shooting Stars.
Nobody else on the team wanted to practice with Alicia or paid her much regard. Nicole did. She saw Alicia's value before anyone else. Their one season together was the reason Alicia stuck with hockey when everyone, including her own parents, wanted her to stop playing.
"Ready, Star?" Nicole asked, flashing her braces with a smile before turning to point at a member of the other team. "See number 17?" Alicia saw her. Number 17 was the biggest one on the ice - but not in the game. "You get her. I've got everyone else."
"Change!" shouted Coach. Alicia and Nicole clacked their sticks together. The other team was about to see Stars.
Nicole hit the ice first with Alicia in hot pursuit. The goon followed her friend behind the goal and beelined for the puck.
"Ready for Peek-a-boo?" called Nicole, skating in like she was going to challenge the girl with the puck. Fooled ya! At the last second, Nicole turned a tight circle like a revolving door. Alicia shot through the temporary gap like a missile and cleared the poor girl out. Nicole had the biscuit and was heading the other way.
Alicia steered toward the boards and crashed into them, bringing herself to a stop. There was 17, crowding the goal, and she brought a friend with her. Nicole bid her time making another pair of girls look foolish for trying to keep up.
"Clear skies!" shouted Nicole across the ice, breaking off from the laughable attempt at a double-team and skated for the net.
That was the signal. Alicia pushed off the boards and glass, pounding the ice, hurtling toward Number 17 and her friend, Collateral Damage. Nicole brought her stick up like she was about to take a shot into the crowd in front of the goal. She started her swing just as Alicia smashed into the two defenders like a freight train, sending her victims and herself hard to the ice and skidding into the boards. She didn't see what happened next, but she heard the cheers. Score another one for the Shooting Stars. Nicole raised her stick and skated to center ice as her friends surrounded her. Alicia finally got upright and joined them.
What time was it?
6:21 PM. "Dagnabbit!" grumbled Alicia to herself.
She shut the combination lock she used when she was going through Hard Times. In an unfamiliar place full of faces ranging from inquisitive to indifferent, it felt like a piece of sanctuary. She left the locker room and took off at a jog in the direction Sabrina told her. Black curtain, dark area, table with a light. This was the place. She brushed past production crew dressed in black.
Allen rose from his chair, frustration etched on his reddening face. "Hey, don't worry about showing up early for your first day of work or anything!"
Alicia's cheeks started to burn. "Sorry! I-"
"Shut up. Stand there," deadpanned the promotion's co-owner, pointing at a mark on the scuffed, rubbery-feeling floor a few feet behind the black curtain.
A member of production with a headset and a clipboard tapped Allen on the shoulder. "Two minutes."
"Thank you," he replied with a nod. There was a long, silent pause. He locked eyes with the rookie. "Ready?"
Alicia's stomach dropped. Something was wrong. "Wait!" she cried, panic thick in her voice. Allen flashed an even more exasperated look. "What about my entrance?"
"30 seconds!"
Allen looked relieved it wasn't something important. His face contorted with bemusement. "What? Who the fuck are you? Get out there."
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