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Descriptions of violence
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Alicia had actually ridden in a limousine once before for the same occasion as, she presumed, many one-time limo riders: prom. The broken nose prom. She hadn't started dating Zack yet by that point. Broken nose prom was with Brian. Brian wasn't a nice person.
The extremely high, very sharp doors of the hot pink cast iron gate parted to allow the excessive vehicle through. The long drive up the manor afforded her a good look at the sprawling pink playground in the front yard. It had everything a kid could want--at least a kid who grew up in the era before people cared about what playground equipment was made of. A swingset with a pair of swings and a pair-swing, hand-push merry-go-round, see-saw, two-story wooden gazebo castle with connecting tower and a bouncy bridge made of rope and wooden planks, a couple of rocking horses mounted on springs, jungle gym, monkey bars - the works. All brutally pink, right down to the woodchips. The paint job looked recent.
The car pulled up to a mansion the same color as the driveway, statue, and fountain. To many people–most people–the word "mansion" conjures a certain mental image. Alicia certainly had that picture in her head before the car pulled around. This mansion did not resemble that image. It looked like a giant had thrown a nightclub into the side of a house and it stuck.
Alicia reached for her gym bag as the door opened. "Thank you," she said, stepping out of the stretch limousine. It was at least 30 feet long and pinker than heck. "Sorry about having to pick me up at a gas station. I promise it was for the best."
"It's whatevs, but we're mad late," replied the strikingly young driver with frosted tips.
Alicia took another look at the house staff racing down the steps from the front door to meet her: another six-foot-plus Adonis, early-20s, with same golden tanning bed-assisted complexion. The sort of handsome most often found in perfume commercials. Even behind the shutter shades, Alicia could see the panic in the pink-tuxedoed man's eyes. He was sweating in the way that looks good on attractive people. "Dawg, you're hella late!" he said, the annoyance clear in his voice.
"Dude, I couldn't find her place. She lives in a haunted forest," the similarly tanned, high-cheekboned driver replied.
The runway-ready staff member gestured for Alicia to follow at a jog. "Wassup-wassup, I'm Tryystynn'n. I'm Party Girl's personal–technically backup personal assistant. So glad you made it. Lunch is almost served and we're on a tight schedule." As he reached for the pink doorknob attached to the pink door attached to the pink megastructure, a thought crossed Alicia's mind. Please don't let the whole place look like this.
And it didn't. There were also photos. Hundreds of posed photographs of Party Girl in all shapes and sizes but only one frame color didn't so much adorn the wall as saturate it. The personal shrine impressed Alicia so much that she didn't notice at first the nauseatingly pink full-size club and dance floor the front door opened up into. The club floor was decorated with tables, chairs, turntables, an impressive array of speakers, lights, a stage, and fog machines. She could guess the fog color. Throbbing dance music blasted through the speakers despite the only people present being the staff tending the two fully stocked bars.
A door between the two bars opened into a hallway. Another pink-tuxedoed member of staff with the same eternal summer tan and a helmet of gelled blonde hair stood waiting by the door. "Sup, ma'am. I'll take your bag." Alicia shrugged the red Langston University Athletics gym bag from her shoulder and handed it off.
"Thanks, Xaun," said Tryystynn'n. "Take good care of it. She's going to need it back by 6:00 PM, okay? Make sure you have it ready before then." He shot Xaun a serious look, which Xaun returned with a nod. Tryystynn'n and Alicia rushed past the first door fast enough that Alicia couldn't tell if that was a spa or just a really big bathroom, but the second for certain led to a swimming pool. Around a corner and down another hall past the make-up room and photography studio–also inexplicably staffed in the middle of the day. Was that a darkroom?
By the time Alicia thought to ask, she and her panicked guide were approaching the door at the end of the hall. The square-jawed assistant dropped from a jog to a stroll. Through the door. Giant dining room. A ceiling as high as the limo was long, and a dining table even longer. At the head of the table, on the far end of the room, sat Party Girl upon a throne of pink. An actual throne. Mr. Cattywampus sat on the table enjoying an ear-scratch from a doting owner.
"'SUP!" shouted Tryystynn'n, formally announcing the arrival. "Party Girl's IRBFF in da house!"
"IR?" asked Alicia.
Party Girl took over the conversation. "In-ring. Come sit down, bestie!" she said before shooting a glare at her backup personal assistant Alicia read as hostile from across the room. "Well, she's here. Where's the food?"
"Uh," Tryystynn'n explained. "Y- um, so- y- I am going to check on that right now," answered the retreating employee as he took off down the hall.
Alicia made the trek to Party Girl's end of the table and sat down. "Ho-ly heckins!" she gasped. Across the entirety of the wall with the door she arrived through had been painted a mural of Party Girl. No - just her face. Teeth gleaming, face beaming. That was the Look the tabloids and press alike trampled each other over.
"I know!" replied Party Girl, sighing dreamily. Alicia turned around to find the exact same Look staring back at her. "You'll have to excuse Tryystynn'n. He's not my favorite. First of all, I wanted to tell you I love the team name we came up with!" We? "Skate Party! How fun! I can't wait to sell T-shirts! So what are you going to do about Black Violet?"
"I- wait. What?" sputtered Alicia, caught off-guard by the question.
Party Girl sighed in exasperation. "We can't go after the tag belts with that thing after you, right? What if I use the Decree and she, like, interferes? We get one shot, so we can't waste it." She was starting to work herself up, "So obviously you have to deal with her first. Not to mention it's only going to get worse for you. Duh. I thought you were supposed to be smart."
"Why'd you think that?"
Party Girl shrugged. "You know, because you're not-" Alicia shot her a cautionary look. "You use big words."
"An effluvient observation," replied Alicia.
The celebrity host scrunched up her nose with a grin. "That's the word for it?"
Alicia nodded. "Sounds like one."
Tryystynn'n exploded through the door, gasping and ugly sweating. "'SUP! Peanut butter and jellies in da house!" Behind him arrived two pink serving carts. If the servers weren't twins, they at least wanted to give that impression. Same ubiquitous shade of golden tan as Party Girl and everyone else. Atop the first cart were an identical pair of metal serving lids. The twin in charge of the first cart removed the lid, revealing two slices of white bread on a pink, heart-shaped plate. Under the second lid was a kitchen knife and a jar of smooth Oh Nuts peanut butter, which he spread with stunning precision.
The second cart was more interesting. She counted eight lids of various sizes spread between the top and bottom level of the cart. He lifted the first lid, revealing an open jar of strawberry jelly with a spoon sticking out. He placed it on the table in front of Party Girl, who stopped petting Mr. Cattywampus, allowing her pet to move one space down and take a seat on the table in front of Alicia. Off came the next lid. Grape jelly. Smaller jar, smaller spoon. Next lid, cherry jelly. Slightly bigger jar, slightly bigger spoon. Each lid covered a different size jelly jar and spoon. Party Girl dipped each spoon in its respective jar precisely once, slung the colorful glob onto the un-peanut-buttered slice of bread, and shoved the jar aside for the server to pick up. With the final spoonful, Party Girl smeared the conglomeration into a monojelly that turned a color Alicia had never seen before and hoped never would again. The second server hurried to join his sibling/doppelganger as they both rushed out the door.
Party Girl mashed the already sopping-wet jelly side onto the peanut butter side, raised the structurally unsound sandwich to her lips, and took a greedy bite. Pinkish-orangish-mostly brown goo seeped out of the edges and onto her perfectly manicured fingers and down her wrists. "You ate already, right?" mumbled Party Girl through a half-chewed mouthful of peanut butter and jellies. Jellies had smeared onto her lips, and another bite soaked both cheeks and a bit of her nose with the hideous fruit gestalt. Alicia shook her head as she watched in horrified silence. "Oh wow. You're gonna be hungry." Another pregnant pause. "So…? Your plan?"
Alicia recalled the list of injuries Party Girl suffered in her encounter with Black Violet and wished there were any other way. "I guess I'll call her out after our match?" Beneath a dripping mask of jellies, Alicia's tag partner looked unimpressed.
"Okay, then you have your match and she'll-" Party Girl belched, and put some bass in it. "-Kill you. Do you want that?"
Alicia felt like she was taking a test for a class she never attended. "Party Girl, I don't want to have the match. What do you think I should I do?"
"Hurt her first!" said Party Girl as a mound of jellies spilled onto her lap. She scooped it up with her fingers and shoved it into her mouth. "Didn't you, like, find where she lives?"
Alicia shook her head, stunned at the suggestion. "I'm not going up there!" There was a beat as she played that last sentence back in her head. "Hold on, hold on. 'Where she lives?'"
"No one's, like, ever seen her go in or out. If I had an address, I would've gotten her myself."
"No. Something else," said Alicia. "I'm not going up there."
"Because it's dark?" asked Party Girl, a barb buried in the question.
Alicia glared. "Because I'm not going into my psycho stalker's secret lair! You didn't see. It's barely even a crawlspace."
The sloppy host stewed. "Well, you better think of something." Mr. Cattywampus purred over the uncomfortable silence. "I know, sweetie," she baby-talked to her contented pet. "She will." Party Girl shot a glance at Alicia, meeting her eyes expectantly.
Alicia asked the first thing that came to mind, trying to change the subject. "What's the name of your charity, anyway?"
The question restored a bit of cheer to the host's face. "Party Girl's Li'l Dreamerz, with a zed."
"Oh. What do you do?"
Party Girl's face grew serious. "We find brave girls in the Chicago area who, on their 16th birthday," her voice quivered as she started getting choked up. "didn't get the car they wanted. We don't just get them their dream car, we also give them the opportunity publicly ruin the thing they hated. It gives them closure." Party Girl raised a goopy finger, recalling something. "That reminds me. Tryystynn'n? TRYYSTYNN'N!" Alicia heard frantic footsteps pounding down the hallway before the now sweat-soaked (backup) personal assistant burst through the door. "Did you prepare the stage with a sledgehammer also, or did you only remember the crowbar and baseball bat? Again? Tryystynn'n?"
The assistant stammered back, "Uh- I'll get it ready now."
Party Girl's eyes narrowed. "You're second backup now. Get out. Send in Xaun."
"My deepest and sincerest apologies, Party Girl, but remember Xaun is-"
Party Girl rolled her eyes. "Ugh! Where's Janice when you need her?"
"You sent her to-"
Party Girl glared at her backup-backup personal assistant, shushing him. "If you don't have anything effluvient to say, you can go make sure we have the Li'l Dreamer's address so we can send them the bill."
"Isn't it a charity?" asked Alicia.
"Not that kind of charity. Ew!" wheezed Party Girl through a smothering mouthful of peanut butter, liquified bread, and the All-Jelly. Alicia thought she detected a smile, but it was honestly hard to tell. "Anyway, I can't wait to give you the tour."
Alicia couldn't wait, either. "Actually, can I ask about the playground in the front yard?"
There was that pinkish-orangish-mostly brown Look, flecked with peanut butter. "Not only can you, I'm so glad you did! That was my playground growing up! I called it The Playground of Dreams."
"In your yard?"
"No, it was in a historic town park near my house where I grew up," responded Party Girl in a bored tone. "The city was being such a pain about it, so to honor my childhood, I just went ahead and relocated it last month. I mean, I had a crew do it, obviously. For a place that's barely a city, Pickle has such nasty lawyers."
Did she hear that right? "You grew up in Pickle, Illinois?" asked Alicia.
For just the blink of an eye, the smile fell, her eyes widened, and those perfectly tanned cheeks went flush. The Look cracked. "Why do you say that? I mean, why are you asking?"
"You said the lawyers were from Pickle, and that's where the playground was, and you said the playground was near the house where you grew up," said Alicia with a shrug. "I always thought you were from Chicago!"
The upbeat, made-for-TV cadence slipped from her voice. "Pickle is close to Chicago."
Pickle is 90 miles away as the crow flies. "Huh. I never knew that about you."
Once again, Party Girl's eyes went wide, and she froze. Did the Look just crack again? Party Girl reflexively filled in the silence. "Well, now you have to tell me something embarrassing about you. And it better be real. You can't make it up."
"Party Girl, I don't think-"
"We're friends. You have to do it for me."
If Alicia weren't afraid of causing disunity within the ranks, she wouldn't have backed down. Unfortunately, it was the only thing she was afraid of at the moment. "My middle name is Gretchen."
Party Girl snorted derisively, blasting a spray of cud and spittle across her plate but mostly the table. "Gretchen! That sucks!" Mr. Cattywampus retreated to the floor and began vigorously grooming.
A grave expression crossed Alicia's face as she held up her index finger. "That's your one."
With a nervous little nod, Party Girl rose from her seat, bent down, and grasped Alicia's much larger hand in her peanut butter catcher's mitt and pulled her guest of honor out of her chair. "Let's get started with the tour! I can't wait to show you around."
* * * * *
"Janice, thank God you're here. It was awful without you," said Party Girl, dumping Mr. Cattywampus into her assistant's arms as they and Alicia headed towards production. Party Girl's #1 assistant had been waiting in the hallway outside of the celebrity's dressing room. Janice was pale, short, and a bit chubby. Her frizzy red hair had been tied into pigtails, and her face bore the pock-marks of some pretty severe acne scars. She wore an overlarge pink Party Girl T-shirt and a pink skirt that hung down to her ankles. A haphazard network of fresh cuts laced both her arms from fingertip to elbow, with another couple scratches on her face. "And do you think you could remember to dress Mr. Cattywampus in something cute for our snuggle-seshie after? That's not too much for you, is it?" Party Girl's favorite personal assistant meekly nodded.
Alicia eyed the fresh-looking cuts with concern. "Jeepers creepers, are you alright? Do you need a doctor? There's a trainer's room labeled 'trainer's room' just down the hall."
The assistant's eyes darted to Party Girl, who checked her. Janice replied in a sugary-sweet voice, "Just some play marks from funtimes with his most royal precious!"
"All those? Did you get them all today?!" asked Alicia, immediately regretting her volume.
The obsequity turned to a scowl as Janice snapped back, "Not most of them, no. Any other questions for your survey? I've got shit to do." Alicia shook her head in startled silence and caught one final glare as the assistant secured the purring pink-orange feline in her arms and jogged back in the direction of the star dressing rooms.
Casting the now-routine paranoid glance over both shoulders, Alicia followed Party Girl through the threshold into the darkness of the production area. She could hear the match announcement at a whisper, "The following contest is scheduled for one fall."
"One
fall!" echoed the audience at a volume that carried to the back, loud and clear.
"With no time limit. Pinfalls or submissions can only take place inside the ring. There are no rules in this match, but! The area under and surrounding the ring has been cleared, both teams have been checked for weapons, and the announce table has been moved to the back. The only foreign objects available will be provided by you, the fans!" The crowd nearly blew the roof off the arena as Guy affirmed the stipulation.
As the tag partners made their way through the back, Alicia no longer had to strain to hear the announcer. "Introducing first, at a combined weight of 359 pounds, the team of Kat Cable and Trace Roote. They're helping users and pinning losers: I.T. FACTOOOOOORRR!!!!"
Withering boos poured from the stands. Something about I.T. Factor grated on fans, and Alicia got it. Production waved Party Girl and Alicia back to gorilla position. Kat and Trace had just stepped through the curtain. Alicia could see on the live feed monitor the start of their entrance. The WarMachine video board turned to an old black-and-green monitor display with a blinking cursor that typed the intro text:
10
SHOW UP
20 WIN
30 GOTO 10
The WarMachine turned blue, and a picture of a white skull and crossbones made of weird old computer characters appeared, with "I.T. Factor" written in a similarly anachronistic font.
Alicia checked over her shoulder for Allen and caught a glimpse of a familiar shape in the darkness. This time, she ran towards it. Short brown hair, arm in a cast. "Sab! Sab. Are you okay? Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, Sabrina, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
Her former turned slowly with a flash of recognition. "Why? You didn't hit me, did you?" replied Sabrina, smirking through sad eyes.
Alicia shook her head. "Who hit you?"
"Sorry, is this a reunion?" interrupted Allen, causing Alicia to jump and the back of her scalp to burn. "What are you doing off your mark?"
Sabrina called back over him, "They got me from behind. I don't know." The nervous rookie thought she saw her old trainer mouth Hard Times as she rushed back to her place. Even Party Girl scolded Alicia with her eyes.
"Hey," said Party Girl, glancing down at her partner's right hand. "Think you can throw your punch tonight?"
Alicia looked down at her hand. The swelling had long since gone down, and there remained very little visible discoloration. The wrist barely nagged, but her knuckles spoke up, and they said "not tonight." She shook her head. "I don't think I'd have much behind it."
"I bet you wish you were young and could heal fast like me," said Party Girl, matter-of-factly.
"You're 24?" asked Alicia. "When's your birthday?"
The celebrity's face lit up. "Oh, thanks for reminding me! March 31st. Mark it down!"
"Don't get jealous," chirped Party Girl's voice over the loudspeakers. "Get like me!"
"I'm 26," explained Alicia. "Party Girl, you're 17 months younger than me."
"Ladies, for fuck's sake, you're on!" shouted Allen.
Alicia and Party Girl burst through the curtain several seconds behind cue, emerging into the nightmarishly pink glow that bathed the arena. The only other color visible was the yellow of the heart-shaped Party Girl logo being projected onto the ring. Fans leapt from their seats, waving a variety of improvised weaponry and roaring in appreciation–alongside a smattering of boos–as pink dollar bills fluttered down from the rafters into the stands. Alicia could see as she descended the ramp this was the newest edition of Party Girl's currency. The amount printed on each bill was up to $86 million now - her reported net worth - and each bill featured one of several dozen posed photographs. On the back, the words "E Party Girl Unum" appeared beside a picture of the Playground of Dreams.
The pink-clad warrior skipped down to the ring, waving and blowing kisses to the crowd as Alicia followed behind, high-fiving fans as they reached over the barricade. The ring announcer, Guy Brody, began their introduction, "Hailing from the party capital of the world, Chicago, Illinois and weighing at least 10 pounds prettier than you'll ever be, she is the trend, she is the conversation, she's America's sweetheart's cool friend," the announcer paused to take a breath. "She stirs up drama with blunt force trauma! She is PAAAAAAAAARRRRRRTTYYYYYYY GIIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRLLLLLLL!!!!!!" Huge roar from the fans.
The team reached the bottom of the ramp. Party Girl grabbed the middle rope to pull herself up onto the ring apron and faced the crowd as she hung both her arms over the top rope. Keeping a tight grip, she backflipped into the ring using the rope as a fulcrum.
"And her partner, wrestling out of Longstat, Minnesota and weighing in at 193 pounds," Alicia saw Party Girl gawk from inside the ring. "She is the tooth collector," Alicia smiled. That was her suggestion. "She is Party Girl's Enforcer." That one hadn't been agreed upon. "She is THE GOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNN!!!" Another loud pop from the crowd.
Alicia made the rounds, offering her hand to high-five the front row, but the crowd seemed indifferent - hostile, even. Instead, they watched Alicia coldly as she circled the ring before she gave up halfway around and climbed into the ring to join her partner. "Together, they are SKAAAAAAAAAAAATE PARRRRTYYYYYY!!!!!" Again, nearly all the crowd seemed thrilled. The unanimous booing from the front row had the the rookie concerned.
Ding!
The instant the bell rang, Alicia's jaw dropped as every single front-row ticket holder removed a shirt or a coat or a jacket to reveal an ill-fitting polo shirt or wrinkled button-down. Now Alicia could see the lanyards and khakis. The united front of geeks, dweebs, and dorks reached down in front of them and produced over a dozen bins overflowing with a diabolical assortment of plunder, which they stationed at set intervals around the ring. A pair of flippin' nerds manned each weapon station, while the rest stood up on their seats and turned around, blocking the rest of the crowd from giving the gift of violence. "Oh, buttons," muttered the rookie.
The crowd turned poisonous as boos and concessions rained down on the mostly bespectacled wall of humanity. Alicia and Party Girl looked at each other and took off at a sprint for the ramp - neutral territory. Unfortunately, I.T. Factor's corner stood closer to the promised land than Skate Party's. The only way there was through their grinning opponents.
A blur of pink flew past Alicia's vision as Kat Cable broadsided Party Girl with a bone-crunching shoulder tackle that sent the star flying. The moment she turned her head, Alicia regretted taking her eyes off the Disgruntled Employee of the Month. It was already too late. She turned back around into a Throat Thrust, as Trace Roote crossed her arms at the wrists and slammed the heels of her hands hard into Alicia's windpipe, dropping her to her knees where she stood as she coughed and gasped for air. It felt like the start of a very long night.
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