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Morning arrived with all the usual ceremony, thanks to the alarm clock. Alicia sat up and rubbed her sleep-starved eyes, but no amount of rubbing could clear away the grimy feeling of only three non-contiguous hours, at most. Built in the '20s 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 feral, 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 for Alicia. Last night, however, they were a sporadic, urgent reminder to get out of bed and check the locks on all the doors and windows again. Castle Winthrop was on high alert: the lamps were staying on, the bathroom light was staying on, exterior and foyer lights, too. At the tip of the spear, the plug-in Janetti the Yeti nightlight remained plugged in and vigilant at his post beside the nightstand.
But now 6 AM had arrived, and it was time to pay the paranoia toll. Alicia rolled out of bed and checked herself in the standing mirror between the closet and weight/sewing/living room doors. A pair of bloodshot eyes stared back at her, and the bags underneath were noticeable if she looked. The bruise and lump on her forehead from the previous night's match 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 intended to feel nice more so than look 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. Mingled with the hiss of the water and the gurgle of the drain, she swore she heard a voice calling, "Alicia…" Any moment, she would hear one of the back windows shatter, and through it would pour the blackhearted, wild-eyed fury Alicia had carelessly loosed upon herself. Fists would pound and pound and pound and that old door would rattle and splinter at the hinges before giving 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. As she reached for the towel hanging from the door-mounted towel rack, she tried to make out what was wrong with the door, and wondered why she would even notice. Then it moved. Spider. That was a wolf spider. And big. She wished it was only as big as the palm of Robert’s hand. She slowly retracted her arm from the towel rack. It moved again, higher up the door. Alicia needed to do something, but she didn't want to smash it with her fist and get another handful of spider chili. She looked down and 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 just like Ralph. Or are you Ralph? wondered Alicia. She pinched the toilet paper in her fingers and tried to pull. The T.P. disintegrated in her soaking-wet hand as soon as she pulled. She checked the wall. Ralph(?) had climbed higher, wise to her game.
Fiddlesticks! Alicia grabbed the entire toilet paper roll in one hand and ripped it free from the feeble plastic roller securing it. With a mighty swing, Alicia slammed the fluffy, white bludgeon against the door, but she was swinging back-handed with her left hand and struck the door low. Low, and very hard. The wolf spider tumbled off the door, onto the toilet paper roll in her hand, 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 and went after that sucker like she meant it.
Suddenly, the kitchen door swung open an inch before catching against the draw-chain lock. "Alicia, are you-"
The sudden introduction of a third party stole away Alicia's attention for a moment. "I very much appreciate your concern, but really not now!" Slam. She scanned the floor, the walls, the ceiling–nothing. No way could it have gotten all the way down the hallway. She checked again. Floor, walls, ceiling. Nothing. Oh no. She looked behind her. There, above the door, a seven-and-three-quarter-legged wolf spider looked right back. Then it turned and fled up the wall and through a vent, out of sight. Her quarry was gone. Now she was the prey. She thought of Black Violet in the arena. Alicia whimpered as she squat-walked into the bathroom, 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 her wide-eyed housemate, 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 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 eating.
Robert returned to his bowl and twirled his spork in the tie-dye milk, gathering up what Alicia guessed was a strawberry-lime-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? I saw a really fancy sports car drive away.
Alicia's heart dropped into her stomach as her eyes went wide. Did he see someone skulking outside? Oh. Fancy sports car. "Oh! Uh, Pa- Giselle Tillman, actually."
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, grinning at the 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 as Robert rolled his eyes. "We just chatted for a bit about maybe teaming up."
Her housemate 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 seriously make a run at the 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 in 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 - 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 nobody was watching, and that tickled her funny bone. 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 while my car is dead."
"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 central DAM (Downtown Area Metro) bus terminal and the front door of Hard Times provided ample time to learn nature’s cruelty firsthand. The moment Alicia rounded the corner of 33rd and Ellering 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). Alicia raced past the dead powder-blue parking lot decoration with the Perletta hood ornament. Are they going to tow my car if I get cut? If so, she literally could not afford to fail.
Someone sat at the front desk, but it wasn't Sabrina. Through the glass door, the Hard Times graduate 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?"
The majority co-owner cracked a slight smile at the rookie standing across the front desk and rose from her seat, gesturing to the back office door in the corner. "Hi, Alicia. Follow me back."
The rookie bit her tongue to let Helene finish before asking the question that had been on her mind since the end of her match last Friday, "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 to take a seat inside. As she went to sit down, 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.
Across the desk, Helene settled into the mahogany-colored leather throne of an office chair. She leaned forward, hands on her desk, fingers laced together, and 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 QoW." 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 half-dozen or so stapled papers, and placed them neatly on the desk before sliding them to Alicia. "The details are in the contract. It's the standard first-year deal: $27,000 annual, plus upside. Minimum 20 appearances, barring injury; up to 33, as negotiated 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 as she composed herself.
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.
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