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I continue. The gopher doesn’t stop me.
“I’ve pointed out the errors in her old act until my face turns blue, but Cheyanne refuses to see reason.”
Disgusted with the gopher’s indifferent attitude toward our conversation, I forgo his help and switch on the radio. Thank God for Sirius XM and the wrestling channel. It’s the Don Caper Hour, starring those two misfits, Don Caper and his mindless sidekick, Harvey Hamm. Their talk wakes me right up.
“So, Harvey, did you get a load of the new amateur act in town?”
“Which one, Don? The monkey man and the python beast?”
“No, Harvey. And for those radio listeners out there, I’m shaking my head at Harvey, sorely disappointed in the uninformed man. I’m talking about the buzz over the vixen duo, Disastra and Daisy Mae Doe Eye. What. A. Show! What they’re doing over there in the old amateur venues and the single ticket offerings at The Faun. Incredible! Worth a pro wrestling ticket price, if you ask me.”
“That good?”
“That good, Harvey. Folks, if you haven’t caught their act, get a ticket while you can. These ladies are headed for the big time faster than I can spell ka-ching!”
I switch off the dial. I have to think.
“Holy hell! This is huge! Camie and Chey have gone viral if Don is touting their act.”
I squeal my tires in a full-on stop, do a tight three-point turn on the narrow road, and burn rubber, heading into the nearest small town where I’ve had previous business with a small-time venue owner. I’ll do only what I have to do and tear back to Briarwood.
The whole way, I’m grinning from ear to ear. In the back of my mind, I know this could blow up everything Chey has tried so hard to keep under wraps. It’s great news and scary news but damn it! The great is greater.
“I have to get to the girls before anyone else does. This is huge news.” This time, I push the gopher’s button, and the furry vermin and I sing the Caddyshack song along the way.
In a flash, I wheel into the parking lot and haul ass through the front doors. I pass the lounge, and I immediately get mauled.
“Lawless! Oh, my God! Can I have your autograph? I’m your biggest fan. Seriously! I’ll frame it and put it above the bar.”
I stop in my tracks, flash the iconic Lawless mean face, and scribble my character’s name on a cocktail napkin he shoves into my chest. Fans. Gotta love ’em ‘cause you can’t kill ’em. Well, lawfully. I wave goodbye and sigh. Then I hightail it backstage, zeroing in on the venue owner to negotiate another deal.
I don’t get halfway down the tunnel.
My cell notification bell — the sound of a wrestling bell — goes off and I scroll through my social media feed.
Marty Murphy, Managing Kid Kaboodle
Then, I scroll further down. This time my eyes pop and my breathing stops. I forget all about the DJ scoop.
Raucous Entertainment Main Ring Event – Kid Kaboodle versus Frederick Lawless – Get Your Tickets Now!
I see the date. One month exactly from today.
“Holy shit! Wasn’t that idiot fired for punching below the belt or taking bribes or something?” I know he’s been blackballed from fighting in the A-list venues as a free agent.
I skid to a stop and run back out the way I came. No time for handshakes and paltry deals now. The countdown clock I feared was running out of time just ran out.
I burn rubber again. In my rearview, I see the owner come out and raise his arms, as if saying, “Where are you going, man?” But no time to explain. I honk my horn and wave.
I take the country corners on two wheels, one wing, and several prayers.
Our fantasy of becoming what we want with no one else knowing…turns out it surely was a fantasy. Chey and Camie are exploding on the scene as characters they aren’t. And I’m exploding on the scene as a character I am and don’t want to be. We three are being made to perform like monkeys in a cage. Or at least that’s what it feels like to me.
My face is hot. I check myself in the mirror. Yep, I’m pissed. But what orc, or for that matter what manipulated and overused wrestler, wouldn’t be?
If I get back to town by three, maybe I can catch Marty at the deli. He’s always munching away on some pork stuffed delight about that time of the day.
I push the accelerator down to the floorboard. The engine roars. The RPMs rocket. Over the engine din, I talk again to the gopher.
