Alicia Goon 023: Aftermath

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Descriptions of injuries

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As miracles go, it had been one of the more exceptional: no sign of a concussion, and, despite severe contusions, no dislocations or breaks in her hand. Other than the ER doc being a Reinforcements fan--and the savage post-match beatdown and the hallway ambush--the night couldn't have gone better. It was the first cause for celebration Alicia could remember in over a year. She had a place in mind.

The match winner threw open the massive, wooden vault door and hurried in out of the cold. "ID?" demanded a tall, heavy-set man seated next to a space heater. Whether he saw the bandage first or the ER wristband three-quarters protruding from the sleeve of her coat, his tone shifted to concern. "Shit, are you alright?" he asked as Alicia reached gingerly into her purse, sucking air painfully between her teeth as she snapped open her wallet and handed the bouncer her driver's license with a hand wrapped in a compression bandage. The young woman smiled and nodded, taking back her license as he waved the moonlighting wrestler through. "Last call is in like 45 minutes, by the way," he warned as she passed.

Alicia weaved between tables and traffic headed for the bar. Behind the counter, there was Robert, pouring a Willow's from the tap for a customer. As he turned to hand the patron their pint, his expression turned from neutral to recognition to utter joy in a heartbeat. "ALICIA! I WATCHED IT ALL FROM HERE! HOLY SHIT! OH MY GOD TH- sir, I am so sorry." The redheaded man in his 50s who at least wanted people to think he was a trucker bristled at having been caught with more than a spritz of his own beverage. The embarrassed bartender reeled off a few arm-lengths of paper towels as he stammered an apology "I'm so sorry. Seriously, that wasn't on purpose," his eyes scanned behind the bar before leaning in to whisper, "I'll wipe out your entire tab tonight, sir. Your drink's on me this time," Remorse swallowed the blooming smile. "Sorry. Bad joke." He turned and poured the lightly drenched customer a new drink. "I'm- uh, here." A nervous hand fumbled for the right pocket and withdrew a $20 bill from a wallet seemingly in no short supply of them. Robert extended the peace offering to the literally sloshed patron, who took his refilled drink, snatched his bribe, and left with a sneer.

The two shared a tentative is-it-cool-yet glance across the bar before deciding the wronged party would have to deal with a respect bubble of 25 feet. Alicia's eyes popped open wide along with her mouth in an exaggerated-but-just-barely grin and let out a jubilant little scream. "That was amazing! That was so awesome! Alicia, holy shit!" shouted her housemate as he rushed around the bar and back to meet her, but as Robert went for the high-five, he froze. "Oh. Wow, sorry. How's the hand?"

"It must not be good, as much as people keep asking," said the bandaged wrestler, holding up her right hand and pulling back the ivory sleeve of her wool coat. "No breaks or anything, thank goodness. Doc said it'll probably be a while before it's 100%. Could be weeks, maybe more."

Robert's mouth went agape. "Weeks?! Didn't they announce you and that other lady are going up against the team that attacked you next week? I don't want you to get hurt."

"Really?" The sentiment genuinely touched her. For the first time since starting her training, she considered that someone else might worry for her safety. "That's really sweet, but I'll be fine. You don't know this, but my partner's like a four-time world champion," said the wrestler with a knowing grin. "Worry about the other two."

"Alicia?" She didn't recognize the voice a few feet to her left. Or either of the two twentysomething women standing next to her it might've come from. It didn't matter; they didn't know her, either. As soon as Alicia turned around in response, the two mystery women's faces lit up in amazement. The shorter woman in a heavy, black coat turned to her taller friend, shouting "I told you!" before reading the panicked expression on the face of the wrestler she just ambushed and remembered her indoor voice. "You're The Goon! Holy shit, I've never met a wrestler in person before. Can I buy you a drink? I'm Kara, by the way. That's Megan." Polite little wave.

The errant bartender sneaked back to his post as the taller brunette, Megan, leaned over the bar to get a clearer lane into the conversation. "We were at the show tonight! That shot with the roll of coins was hilarious."

She also hadn't considered the possibility of being recognized in public, immediately realizing that the meeting with Jim should've been the tip-off. Tonight, though, Alicia didn't mind being seen. "Yeah! Oh my gosh, thank you! That's so cool of you. Thank you! Thank you for coming out tonight! Um, from all of us." Eventually, the woman starstruck by her own fans recalled the original question. "Sorry, yeah, thank you. That's so nice of you! Are you sure?" Then recalled herself. "Oh. I, uh, don't… drink."

A harrowing pause sidled up between them. "This is a bar," Megan explained.

Alicia thought for a second longer. She asked her question, "What do you like? You two?"

"We were going to get a pitcher of Chicago's Best for the table," answered Megan, seizing upon the eavesdropping bartender's attention. It took a second, but he got the hint and started pouring, trying not to wince at their selection.

The surprise patron nodded and turned to Robert. "Okay. I'll get that. For them, if it's alright," she said, reaching into her wallet for a few bills and waving off the change.

The two fans looked caught off-guard as they received their order. "Yeah, wow. Um, thanks!" said Megan, taking the pitcher with a grateful smile. "Good luck on the match next week. I mean, you know, not-" With a troubled look, she pulled open her puffy, sleeveless white coat to reveal a camo T-shirt with all three members of the squad silhouetted against the words "The Reinforcements" in bullet-riddled gun-metal gray. "We're actually Reinforcements fans, but we hope you don't wind up seriously injured." The shorter woman with short, black hair nodded in agreement, pulling open her coat to reveal an identical shirt, except in black rather than camo. A non-apologetic apologetic look crossed the fan's face before the two turned and strolled to the room with the ski mask wall.

It took a moment for the stunned woman to find her voice. She turned to her housemate across the bar who could only just hold back a laugh. "You should seriously worry for our opponents next week."

* * * * *

The instant that business-inappropriate door swung open and Alicia saw her coworker's eyes snap to her bandaged hand, Alicia braced herself for a rough day. "Miss Alicia, are you alright?" asked Maxine. At least the moonlighting wrestler's face wasn't mangled. That mangled. Comparatively speaking. She had been able to mostly conceal the bruising on her forehead with some clever makeup and a scarf worn like a bandana around her long, loose curls, but she couldn't hide the hand. Purple got some other friends overnight, but she hadn't gotten around to naming those new colors yet. At best, the compression bandage around her wrist and hand would minimize the same swelling and hide most of the hideous bruising. "Doll, what happened to your hand? How bad is it?"

Almost instinctively, the office assistant tucked the injured limb a bit closer to her body. Every match, the explanations got harder to give. At least Maxine knowing where they came from allowed the young woman to ease into the cold water. "Morning, Miss Maxine. Nothing's broken, but it's not great," admitted Alicia, finding the key for the reception door on her keychain and letting herself in. She removed her coat and tossed it onto her chair back. "She got me good. It still hurts just as much as when it happened. She took a- you know what? It's better you don't hear how it happened." She asked for the scouting report, hoping to put off the morning histrionics a little while longer, "Dr. Pupe around?" Maxine's eyes softened as her expression scrunched into a bad-news face. "Dagnabbit," moaned the hurting employee.

Maxine stood up from her chair and locked the reception door behind her young coworker as she prepared to brave the break room, "Somebody canceled at the last minute." 

Alicia cringed and called back, "Gosh darn it, I'm so sorry about the door. You really don't have to keep getting up. Please. I should do it." The smiling unofficial office manager shook her head as she shuffled back to her chair. Deep breath. Into the break room. She was met by two sets of staring eyeballs.

The hygienist was quicker on the draw, "Are you alright?" 

But the doctor wanted it more. "Alicia, what happened?"

Chronological order, then. "I'll be alright, but," she turned to her boss. His face fell. She didn't need a camera. The moment was enough. "I'm going to be severely limited in my duties over the next week or so." The secret wrestler held up a hand wrapped not quite well enough to fully conceal the extent of the damage. It was the reason she hadn't cut off the ER bracelet that morning. "You know I wouldn't ask unless I really didn't have a choice, but I think you're going to have to do the slide deck for your presentation at the Friends of Teeth conference this year." She flipped her injured hand in a what-can-you-do shrug. The bandaged employee reached into her purse with her good hand and withdrew an official-looking hospital printout. "Minimal activity for at least seven days, then light duties as tolerated. See?"

The man with hair of obsidian and a mustache of limestone squinted his eyes performatively at the document. Or maybe not. Did he ever end up going to the eye doctor? "You can't work a mouse?" The office assistant shook her head. "Can't type?" Another no. "And that's your writing hand?" And a nod. "What can you do?"

She shrugged her shoulders, "I suppose just my job description."

"I might as well hire you an assistant," grumbled the flabbergasted practice owner, throwing up his hands as he stormed into the hall toward his office.

Back to the other set of concerned eyes. Alicia bit her lip as she extracted herself from one uncomfortable conversation right back into another. She sighed and dropped off her lunch in the fridge. "Thank you for your concern. Honestly, that's really thoughtful. I promise there's a good explanation, and I promise I will tell you, okay?" 

Sherry took a moment to consider the IOU. "If you promise that you're really, truly okay, and that you'll tell Maxine or me or somebody if you need help, then okay," said the woman with hair big as life. "It looks like quite a story." 

"Yeah," admitted the wrestler. 

Alicia returned to her seat in silence, content to let Miss Maxine work her way through the outgoing mail. She didn't want to talk, anyway. Yes, she did. The young woman spoke softly to her friend, "I'm really worried next week is going to be my final match. After that, they decide if they want to sign me or not. I really think they're going to cut me. I'm really scared I'm going to fail," she confessed to Maxine and herself.

The senior staff member turned her chair to face Alicia. "You haven't. Honey, you wanted to do something incredibly tough, and you stuck through it. No matter what happens, you deserve to feel proud of what you've done." She scooted forward on her office chair to reach out and grip the young woman by her sore bicep, "Now that I've said that, I want you to go out there and you give them hell and feed them their teeth!"

"Miss Maxine!" gasped Alicia.

"I had a few scraps when I was young, you know," bragged the office manager with a smirk. "I didn't always get along in school."

The wrestler sized up her colleague. "Okay! I can see the fighter now," said Alicia, reaching for a patient clipboard as the door opened and a mother and her teenage son stepped through, short-lived puffs of steam from their lips hanging in the air. "You know, I didn't see it until now, but now I'm looking for it, I can. Did you win?"

"Miss Alicia, you and me? We'd have taken on the world."