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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 an era before people cared about what playground equipment was made of. A swing set 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 new.
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 had very much the same 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 the same golden, tanning bed-assisted complexion. The sort of handsome most often found in perfume commercials. Even behind the shutter shades, Alicia could see 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. We had to meet somewhere else. She lives in a haunted forest," replied the similarly tanned, high-cheekboned driver.
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 where another pink-tuxedoed member of staff with the exact same shade of 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 they just passed or just a really big bathroom, but the second for certain led to a swimming pool. They pressed onward 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. Ceiling as high as the limo was long, and a dining table even longer. On the far end of the room, at the head of the table, sat Party Girl upon a throne of pink. An actual throne, at least eight feet tall and upholstered in hot pink velvet. 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.
"In-ring. Come sit down, bestie!" chirped Party Girl. She shot a glare at her backup personal assistant that 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," stammered 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! Do you think you could squeeze into a medium? So what are you going to do about Black Violet?"
"I- what?" sputtered Alicia, caught off-guard by the question.
Party Girl let out a long, exasperated sigh. "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 keep getting worse for you the longer it goes on. Duh. I thought you were supposed to be smart."
"Why'd you think that?" asked Alicia.
Party Girl shrugged. "You know, because you're not-" Alicia shot her a cautionary look. "You use big words."
"An effluvient observation," Alicia replied.
The celebrity host scrunched up her nose with a grin. "Is that the word for it?"
Alicia nodded. "Sounds like one."
Tryystynn'n exploded through the door, gasping sweating less attractively. "SUP! Peanut butter and jellies in da house!"
Two pink serving carts arrived behind him, pushed by a pair of servers with the same ubiquitous shade of golden tan as Party Girl and everyone else. If the servers weren't twins, they at least wanted to give that impression. Atop the first cart sat an identical pair of metal serving lids. The twin in charge of the first cart removed the lid, revealing two slices of white, heart-shaped 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. Alicia counted eight lids of varying sizes spread between the top and bottom levels of the cart. The servant 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 to allow her pet to 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 rolled their carts 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 fingernails, her hands, 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?" Alicia suggested. 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 into 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 of the arena. 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 smirk spreading across her gooey lips.
Alicia glared. "Because I'm not going into my psycho stalker's secret lair! You didn't see. It's barely even a crawlspace."
"Well, you better think of something." The sloppy host stewed. while 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, hoping to change the subject. "What's the name of your charity, anyway?"
The question restored a bit of cheer to her tag partner's demeanor. "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 choking up. "Didn't get the car they wanted. We don't just get them their dream car, we also give them the opportunity to 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 backup 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 bad, 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'z address so we can send her parents 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, you just 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 from Party Girl's face. 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 Party Girl's 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," Party Girl snapped. "You have to."
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 on the table and cat. "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, grasped Alicia's much larger hand in her peanut butter catcher's mitt, and pulled the 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 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?" asked Party Girl. "That's not too much for you, is it?"
Party Girl's favorite personal assistant nodded meekly.
Alicia eyed the fresh-looking cuts with concern. "Jeepers creepers, are you alright? Do you need a doctor? There's a trainer's room down the hall. Just look for the sign that says 'Trainer's Room.'"
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 Janice 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 from a distant monitor 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 Brody confirmed the stipulation. Alicia no longer had to strain to hear the announcer as the newly official tag team made their way through the back.
"Introducing first, at a combined weight of 359 pounds, the team of Kat Cable and Trace Roote. They're helping users and pinning losers. They are I.T. FACTOOOOOORRR!!!!"
Withering boos poured from the stands. Something about I.T. Factor grated on the fans, and Alicia totally got it. Production waved Party Girl and Alicia back to gorilla position. Kat and Trace had just stepped through the curtain, and Alicia could see on the live feed monitor the start of I.T. Factor's 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 looked over her shoulder for Allen to await their cue 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 trainer turned slowly with a flash of recognition. "Why? You didn't hit me, did you?" replied Sabrina, smirking despite her 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."
Alicia rushed back to her mark and thought she saw Sabrina mouth Hard Times. Even Party Girl scolded the rookie with her eyes. "Hey," said Party Girl, glancing down at her partner's right hand. "Think you can throw that punch tonight?"
Alicia held up her injured 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 smugly.
"You're 23, right?" Alicia asked. "When's your birthday?"
Party Girl's face lit up. "Oh, thanks for reminding me! March 31st. Mark it down!"
"Don't get jealous," blared Party Girl's voice over the loudspeakers. "Get like me!"
Alicia did some quick mental math. "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 a nightmarish pink glow that bathed the arena. The only other color visible was the yellow of the heart-shaped Party Girl logo projected onto the ring. Fans leapt from their seats, waving a variety of improvised weaponry and roaring in appreciation, alongside a smattering of boos. Pink dollar bills fluttered 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. Each bill featured one of several dozen posed photographs and the words "E Party Girl Unum" next to a picture of the Playground of Dreams on the back. The warrior in pink 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.
Guy Brody stood in the middle of the ring looking out of place dressed in his usual black tux among the neon. He lifted the microphone and began the introductions, "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 hotter friend," the announcer paused to take a breath. "She stirs up drama with blunt force trauma! She is PAAAAARRRRTTYYYYY GIIIIRRRRLLLL!!"
The crowd erupted into cheers. Party Girl grabbed the middle rope to pull herself up onto the ring apron and turned to face the crowd. She draped both her arms over the top rope and used it as a fulcrum to backflip into the ring.
"And her partner, wrestling out of Longstat, Minnesota and weighing 193 pounds, 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 high-fives to the front row, but the crowd seemed indifferent--hostile, even. Instead, they watched Alicia coldly as she circled the ring before giving up halfway around and climbing into the ring to join her partner.
"They are SKAAAAAAAAAAAATE PARRRRTYYYYYY!!"
Again, nearly the entire crowd seemed thrilled, but the unanimous booing from the front row had Alicia concerned.
Ding!
The instant the bell rang, Alicia's jaw dropped. Every single front-row ticket holder removed a sweatshirt 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 produced a dozen or more bins overflowing with a diabolical assortment of plunder, which they stationed at 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 fans from giving the gift of violence.
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, and the path was through their smirking opponents.
A blur of pink flew past Alicia's vision as the hefty Kat Cable broadsided Party Girl with a bone-crunching rugby tackle that sent the fashion mogul flying. The moment Alicia turned her head, she regretted taking her eyes off the Disgruntled Employee of the Month. It was already too late. Alicia turned around into a Throat Thrust, as Trace Roote crossed her arms at the wrists and slammed the heels of her palms hard into Alicia's windpipe, dropping the rookie to her knees where she stood, causing her to cough uncontrollably and gasp for air. It felt like the start of a very long night.
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