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“Word is that her schtick is a losing proposition. Cheyanne thinks a couple of new moves in the ring can resuscitate her image as Archimedes. Everyone from the water boy on up knows that’s a joke. Her good girl image is toast.” Charlie unwraps an entire pack of peppermint gum and chews away.
“Yeah, but with Mac by her side. I mean, what better trainer is there out there? The guy has the Midas touch for wrestling and training wrestlers. And, anyway, who says she has to fight? She’s set for life with old man O’Malley. She could have any backstage job she wants. That merger makes him a monopoly owner.”
I hear the front door swing open. The guys mumble their goodbyes, and I’m face-to-face with Cheyanne.
Out of breath, she runs up. “Ronan, I wanted to catch you before you left.”
“Oh, yeah, why? To say goodbye, too?”
“No, well, yes and no. How ‘bout no goodbye? You stay and give me some pointers. You know, well, the whole place knows that I sure as hell need them.”
I smile at the best news I’ve heard since I packed my duffle bag. I’ll get what I want out of my brand change, come hell or Marty Murphy.
“You’re on.”
CHAPTER 7
Cheyanne
“Where do we train, though? You’re persona non grata here, right? I mean with that whole debacle with Marty.”
My concerned look is real. Not merely for my training but for Ronan’s, too. I curse my emotions. Why do they have to hang out on my sleeve and not hide like respectable emotions?
Ronan smiles. There’s a quiet assurance about the guy. I guess when you’re as big and muscular as him, you can afford all that assurance. “I’ll make a call. I know people.”
I laugh, blush, and nervously twirl my green locks, all at the same time.
“Right. Of course, you do. What’s it like being top dog?”
“That’s top orc to you, missy.”
I hear the cell phone connect.
“Steve, hi, it’s me. You got any room in your gym? I have a wrestler who needs a place ASAP.”
I watch Ronan walk away to continue the talk. Every so often, he glances my way, nods, and smiles. My stomach churns. I feel like a piece of meat on the auction block. I smile back.
“Steve’s tapped out at Silver Buckles.”
We both put our heads down to think.
“Listen, I started in the slums. Why don’t we both go back there? Back alley gyms are great for working out kinks. No affected assholes around you, spouting their commercial bullshit. Just you and me in the ring, figuring things out.”
My smile widens, then becomes a toothy grin. “Back alley gyms. I’m loving it. Lead on!”
Within a half hour, Ronan locates a mom-and-pop joint across Briarwood’s train tracks, and for a cheap fee, we find ourselves standing in the center ring. The klieg lights are lit. Training or not, it’s showtime. My hands are wrapped, but they’re shaking like this is my first day on the ropes.
“Okay, so when I finish this ring jump…, then I land on two’s, striding my opponent, and end with a leg pin. What do you think?” I stand there, puffing.
I feel like a fool. I know my face is red, not from the quick workout but from the gaffes I make. I trip over my feet on the approach to my two-handed torso maul. I roll when I should have jumped. And my ponytail gets caught up on the ropes. In my entire career, that never happened!
What am I, a drunken giraffe? I let fly some curses. Oh, great, yeah, and have a mouth like a drunken sailor, why don’t ya?
I stumble to my feet like the drunken giraffe I am and wait for his critique. I’d rather be shot at dawn.
“Hm… not exactly what I expected from you. Maybe we need to back up. How ‘bout you tell me why you want to enhance the moves of Archimedes instead of developing a new character brand?”
Ronan holds the ropes open, and we duck out and sit on the bleachers. He looks off into the distance, and I lower my head in abject shame.
