Jessa Bolt

My name is Jessa Leigh Bolt, and I am currently living out my dream as a WWE Diva.

I've been working for the world's largest pro wrestling – sorry, sports entertainment – organization for the last three years, after spending my late teens and my early twenties on the independent and developmental circuits. I came to WWE by way of Ohio Valley Wrestling, along with my best friend Callie Berry. On the independent scene, the two of us were a dominant tag team, sisters from other misters. From time to time, we still tag team here, our friendship no secret to anybody in front or behind the cameras. The common misconception about Callie and I is that we do everything together. We negotiated our contracts separately, for instance. My cousin Tessa had just graduated law school and passed her bar exam and asked if she could represent me, just like I had promised her years ago when I was just a big eyed girl with an even bigger – and seemingly impossible – dream. Callie wanted me to ditch Tessa and go with this lawyer she was dating at the time, but I couldn't break my promise. Besides, I didn't really like the guy she was dating; he struck me as a real ambulance chaser, the kind of guy who exploits personal tragedy for profit. So, our contracts are different. I hear Callie complain about it from time to time, but I don't talk about the terms of it with anyone. I think it puts her out a bit that I don't, but I have a great contract. She ended up breaking up with the guy afterwards.

Coming to WWE is all I've ever wanted, ever since I was a little girl watching Raw on the couch with my father. I've endured it all leading up to this point; the eye rolls, the skepticism because of my weight, the injuries and the bullying. It's sweet revenge, looking in the mirror and knowing that I made it, that I made it to the big leagues with my sister from another mister. It seems like another lifetime now, when we were just two broke girls in a big city dreaming even bigger. The two of us met in theater class in high school; I was sixteen and had just started training and she was seventeen and not a wrestling fan. I told her my plans, that I was going to the United States to strike it big after high school, and she wanted to come along. I'm so glad that she did. We've trained together and have enjoyed some amazing sights together.

I'm twenty-four, a proud graduate of Queen Elizabeth Secondary School in Surrey, British Columbia, Canada. My high school experience was a super busy one, between the after-school clubs and part-time jobs to fund my wrestling habit. Callie and I were the polar opposites; she did just enough to get by, while I was the vintage overachiever. I worked on the school newspaper – which was easy, since my attendance wasn't mandatory. I decorated for school dances and did work on plays and yearbook. Callie didn't do any of it, but we still found time every weekend to plan out every aspect of our move set, entrances and our dream attires. We would grab my mom's camcorder and record the world's worst promos.

When I was fourteen, I found out about independent shows running out of Abbotsford and Cloverdale. Every month, I went out there and harassed them to train me. I'd hang out after the shows and ask questions. They wouldn't train me because they felt I was too young. When I turned sixteen they finally caved. Our parents had to sign waivers – which they did, since they knew we were sold on the idea – and we got down to business. The only condition was that we worked out and kept up our education. I held up my end – I lost sixty pounds with the diet they gave me – and they held up theirs. I'm eternally grateful for what the team out in Abbotsford did for me. Callie had her first match about six months after she turned eighteen. I was jealous; they wouldn't put me out there until I was ready and until I was eighteen. My first match was on my eighteenth birthday against a girl by the name of Holly Awesome. I lost with a roll-up.

Within three months of debuting, Callie and I were a tag team. Within six, we were on a flight to England to wrestle. From England, it was Germany and then America. WWE called us for a tryout several months after I turned twenty. We had our match, a tag team effort against Jacqueline and Ivory. Then, it went radio silent. I was devastated. Callie's a lot better at keeping her emotions hidden than I am. Six months later, we got another call and we jumped at the chance. After the match, we were offered a contract. On my twenty-first birthday we were sharing a small apartment in Louisville, Kentucky, reporting to Ohio Valley Wrestling. I wish I can say those were fun times, but I spent most of my time crashing on the couch of Angel Williams, a fellow talent. Callie set a rule that I couldn't be there when she brought guys home. I probably spent more time at other places than my own. Once we were brought up and making guaranteed money, I got myself my own place in Manhattan. Callie was really angry that I was moving out. I think she still resents me a bit for it.

If the WWE definition of the term "Diva" is to be believed, then I'm an equal combination of "sexy, smart and powerful". I kind of feel like "awkward" is a better fit for a girl like me. Compared to the women I'm surrounded by, I feel like a lump of average in a sea of gorgeous. I'm pale. I mean, I don't glow in the dark, but I could probably use to get a tan. I've got an oval face with wavy thick ruby hair that falls to my sternum. I keep bangs, because I'm of the belief that one could project a movie on my giant forehead. I think that my eyes are too big for my face. They're weird, a strange mixture of slate blue, forest green and a bit of gold. I've been told it's my most unique feature. I'm never sure what the color is; some days it looks more blue, some days it looks more green. On my driver's license, the worker at the DMV and I just decided to go with "hazel". Close enough.

In contrast, Callie is gorgeous. She's the kind of woman you would want to put in magazines, in movies. She is beautiful and aggressive, a perfect combination of what Vince and company are looking for. Her eyes are beautifully shaped, a bright hazel that looks golden. Her hair is dark brown, thick and long, coarse and straight as a pin. If wrestling didn't work out for her, she could have been a model. When we first met Vince, he remarked that she belonged on the cover of magazines. It's hard to disagree.

After the two of us were transferred from Raw to SmackDown, Callie found out that Dave Batista had taken a liking to her. He's a big brawny guy, known as the enforcer of Evolution, a quartet of vicious deviants led by Triple H. He's soft-spoken, a complete contrast from his appearance. He's not a bad looking guy by any stretch, a mixture of Filipino and Greek, with intense brown eyes and close-cropped dark hair with a soul patch. He looks incredible in a suit.

I despise Evolution, and everything they stand for. They do whatever they want, whenever they want and they have no regard for anyone else. I've seen them leave people in conditions I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. They're cold and they're cutthroat and disrespectful. There is no one more disrespectful in that group than Randy Orton. He's had his eyes on me for a while now, and he's a pig. The first impression he left on me was an offhand remark that he's never had a redhead before.

Evolution been running roughshod over Raw since before Callie and I were transferred, and once Dave set his sights on Callie...well, what he wants, he gets. He didn't care that at the time, Callie was dating WWE's one-legged underdog, Zach Gowen.

Zach tried. He fought for his girlfriend, but Dave outweighs him by at least two hundred pounds. He was one man against four, and he never stood a chance. We did everything we could, but it was to no avail. It was the worst night of my life, with John Cena and Kurt Angle holding me back as Evolution practically shoved Callie into their waiting limousine.

She was left to fend for herself on Raw for a few months. I tried everything in my power to get her back, but I couldn't do it. Evolution refused to give her up, and they had General Manager Eric Bischoff in their back pocket. Callie and Zach's relationship didn't survive; she cut him out of her life completely without any explanation. When Mick Foley came in to act as co-General Manager in December, Callie was brought back over here. From there, she started dating John Cena, a fun, jovial sports encyclopedia with a love of old-school hip hop. He's fun and infectious and would crawl over an acre of broken glass for Callie. With the way she treats him, though, I think she doesn't see what's in front of her. Maybe that's the way relationships start. I wouldn't know; I've never had one, something Randy Orton somehow knows about.

It's a chilly night in April, a week removed from my twenty-fourth birthday. We're in Vancouver, just an hour outside of our hometown. Callie's mother is living in Guilford now, in a small apartment. It's been a strange day, one of those days where Callie and I can't seem to meet up; everything from flight problems to rental car complications. I've been wanting to talk to her about things; there were talks about doing a documentary show about us Divas that didn't involve the swimsuit or lingerie magazines where cameras follow us around twenty-four hours a day. Callie wanted to do it, I don't, and since WWE has us as something of a packaged deal right now, they decided to pass on Callie and I and go with Raw Divas. I know she's upset about the deal falling through, so I want to clear the air with her and make her understand my side. I value my privacy. Having cameras following me all the time would annoy me very quickly. I feel terrible that it cost Callie, but I can't just do something because it would make her happy.

Knowing I wouldn't get to see her before the show started, I went to the small gym in the arena to sneak in a quick workout before the show. The latest Sevendust album – Seasons – is blaring in my headphones while I jog on a treadmill that has seen better days. Chris Jericho referred the band to me back in November when I saw him at Survivor Series. He's a rock star in his own right, the lead singer of a cover band called Fozzy. He's been working on their first album of original material, but I have no idea how that's going.

I felt a tap on my shoulder. I stopped jogging and turned to find Rico standing behind me. He's a garish, colorful and flamboyant man. He was in his ring gear already, complete with sparkling face paint and shimmering pink tights. Before joining with WWE, Rico worked as a police officer in Las Vegas, and he certainly carried the flair of Vegas over to WWE with him. His dark brown hair was already styled, perfectly coiffed. I flashed him a grin. "Hey, Rico. What's up?"

"Hey, Jess. Sorry to bother you – have you seen Jax around by any chance?" Jax was his nickname for his manager and valet, Miss Jackie Gayda. She came to WWE by way of Tough Enough, the reality show that's supposed to craft new Superstars and Divas. I love her style, even if I could never pull it off. Her hair is blonde; sometimes she likes to put streaks of pink and blue in it to match her outfits. Sometimes I'll let her pick out my ring gear for the night, but it is never anywhere near as revealing as hers.

"I haven't. Have you tried the Divas locker room?" I asked. He shook his head, his shoulders curving.

"No, I haven't. She told me she would be here," he explained. He trailed off, exhaling and putting his hands on his hips. "I'll give it a couple more minutes and then I'll go check over there. Thanks, Jess. Sorry to bother you."

"You're never a bother," I told him with a smile. While Callie was trapped over on Raw, I traveled with him and Jackie and they were some of the best road trips I've ever been on. He turned, his eyes scanning the area. I put my headphones on and turned the treadmill back on, resuming my jog. I wasn't two minutes into it when I got another tap on my shoulder. A little annoyed, I shut off the treadmill and turned, this time finding Sable behind me.

Sable was a mainstay in the WWE in the nineties when the Attitude Era was in full swing. Besides Sunny, she was probably the highest profile Diva, the undeniable female face of the Attitude Era. She left in 1999, claiming sexism and filing a giant lawsuit. She came back to the company last year, shocking all of us. She's five-eight to my five-six, her hair long and bleached blonde and her eyes brown. She has a perpetually sneaky smirk on her face, like she knows a secret nobody else is privy to. She was dressed in a slinky black dress that showed off a lot of cleavage. It was the kind of dress that was fine as long as she didn't drop anything. Chyna wrote in her book that the only things Sable had going for her was the WWF and an airbrush. I hate to sound like a catty bitch, but I kind of agree, since she wasn't much of a wrestler. I feel if you're in the wrestling business, you should probably know and get good at your craft.

"Kurt wants you in his office. He says it's important."

"Did he say what exactly he wanted?" I asked her. She shook her head.

"Nope. He just said to get you and that it was important," she reiterated. I sighed, knowing that my quick workout was finished before it could begin. I shut off my music player and let my headphones rest around my neck.

"All right. I'm on my way."

"Have you seen Callie tonight?" she asked.

"No. We haven't had a chance to meet. She's having travel issues."

"That's not what I heard..." Sable trailed off, her voice sing-song. I wheeled on her, my eyes narrowing.

"What?"

"I heard she's on her way here. With Evolution," she told me, her tone smug. I shook my head.

"I doubt that very much," I told her angrily. I left the weight room without giving her a chance to respond, not wanting to hear anymore of her lies. I know that she's happy to get inside my head; since coming back, she's made enemies of everyone, including her one-time ally Torrie Wilson. They posed for Playboy together and from there, their friendship seems to have fallen apart, for reasons Torrie isn't really clear about. She's chalking it up to insecurity.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I walked towards the General Manager's office. The man who oversees the blue brand, Kurt Angle, is one of the greatest wrestlers ever, period. He has a gold medal from the 1996 Olympics. He won it with a broken neck. Even when he is less than a hundred percent he can still outwork some of the people here. He is incredible, and when I got here, he made it his business to take me under his wing. I've been all the better for it. He's a hulking man, bald with the most incredible blue eyes I've ever seen. Coming to a stop in front of his door, I knocked.

"Who is it?"

"It's Jessa."

"Come on in!"

I opened the door, not surprised to find Kurt sitting behind his desk. He was dressed in a dark gray suit with a white shirt and blue tie. A few months ago, he crossed paths with an angry Big Show and suffered a horrific fall that has confined him to a wheelchair. It was awful. He's blamed Torrie for the accident, since he was coming to her rescue when it happened. His anger is misguided, but I can't tell him that. When it comes to the fall, he's not listening to anything anyone has to say. Behind him, to the left, stood Luther Reigns, a stern man with a horseshoe haircut. He wore a dark olive suit with a beige shirt and no tie. To the right stood Mark Jindrak, a guy with spiky blond hair. He wore a navy suit with a white shirt and a red tie. The unofficial name going around back here for the trio is "The Honor Society". At the sight of me, Kurt's puffy lips curved into a smile.

"Hey, Jessa. I see Sable got to you. She didn't give you too hard of a time, did she?" he asked. He knows that Sable and I don't get along. Kurt knows that she doesn't really get along with any of the other Divas, in spite of our best efforts to welcome her back into the fold. He also knows I don't get along with Dawn Marie, a devious woman who came to WWE by way of the now-defunct ECW. Dawn is evil, going to lengths to humiliate and weaken her opponents that would make the coldest of people cringe.

"No more than usual," I answered cheerfully, sitting down in the chair across from his desk. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, you know I had that big meeting in Stamford this week," he told me. I nodded; he had been nervous about it. "Well, the meeting was great, and now I can tell you why exactly I was there. We are officially instating a Divas Championship here on SmackDown."

The news knocked me for a loop. "Get out of here. You're kidding me."

"Not at all. We have a division that's just as good as what the ladies have on Raw. You deserve titles, too. So, right now, I am trying to work on a a bracket of sorts. Whittle it down. We'll probably be crowning our first Divas Champion at Vengeance."

"Kurt, this...this is incredible!" I grinned. "Wow. This is amazing. You've made my night."

"I'm glad to hear that." There was a beat. "How is my favorite Diva tonight?"

I always feel a little awkward when he talks like that, but tonight I shook it off. "I'm good, so far," I said, adding my trademark cautious optimism to my answer. "Do you know if Callie's arrived yet? She's not answering any of my messages. I know she's been having issues today with travel and stuff. I'm just wondering if she got in touch with you."

"She got here a while ago with Stephanie McMahon," Kurt confessed. The revelation surprised me. Kurt took in the expression on my face. "Is everything okay between the two of you?"

"I don't know," I confessed. Kurt is fully aware of the tension that came up after the deal for the show fell through. He's on my side – not that it was ever in question – but he sees both sides. I stood. "I'll go see if I can find her. Keep me posted on the brackets."

"Will do."

"Have your plans for the night changed, or am I still off?" I asked.

"You're still off. You've earned it." I nodded, thanking him before I left. I walked down the hallway towards the Divas locker room with purpose, hoping that I could talk to Callie a bit. She's upset, I know, but things haven't felt much different than usual. Several feet from the Divas locker room, I stopped when the door opened. Callie walked out with Stephanie. They didn't seem to see me. I wanted to call out to her, but my heart fell into my feet when I saw Randy Orton walk out several seconds behind them, dressed in black slacks and a crimson button-down shirt. The top three buttons were undone, exposing part of his chest.

I'm not made of stone, and I'm no liar. Randy Orton is an attractive man. He has a long, lean body that could have been chiseled from granite. His hair is the perfect length, close-cropped and brown. His eyes are small, dark blue and intense. He has tribal tattoos on his arms and back. The real issue is that he knows just how gorgeous he is. Women throw themselves at him everywhere he goes, and it's not hard to understand why. I think it drives him crazy that I am not one of those girls.

Turning back, I rounded the corner and bumped into Natalie Landry. She's a friend of mine, a tech who has been working backstage now for about six months. She was already set up, but I knew that her radio was off. "Hey, Jess." She took me in, her pale blue eyes narrowing in concern. "Are you okay? You're looking a little pale."

"Hardy freaking har," I said with a roll of my eyes.

"I see what I did there, but I was being serious. Are you okay? You're looking kind of upset."

"I kind of am," I confessed, keeping my tone hushed. "I just saw Callie leave the Divas locker room with Stephanie McMahon and Randy Orton." Natalie's eyes widened. It's no secret that the two of us have been having issues with Evolution for some time now. The situation has been more centered on Callie, so people have been more concerned about her and her well-being. I've been trying to stay out of it, trying to stay underneath Evolution's radar, but drama seems to know where I am most of the time. It finds me.

"What do you think is happening there?" Natalie asked.

"What do you think it looks like? Stevie Wonder could see there is some fuckery afoot here." I leaned against the trunk, crossing my arms over my chest. "I don't know what is going on, but this is bad. This looks bad." I looked over at Natalie. "Do you think I should be telling John about this? I'm willing to bet that he has no idea what his girlfriend is up to."

Natalie contemplated her answer. I'm sure there is nothing she would like more than to see John and Callie split. Since coming into the WWE, Natalie has harbored the biggest crush on John. It's not much of a secret backstage, but I don't know if John knows. Callie is fully aware, and she uses it as an excuse to treat Natalie like garbage. I've heard Callie say some of the meanest things about Natalie, things about her appearance, about how she's going to die a virgin like me. I'd never repeat any of this to Natalie; she's so self-conscious. I would never do anything to make her feel worse about herself.

"I think you should," Natalie said. "If he's going to get stabbed in the back, he should probably know it's coming. Between you and I, I've been hearing that she's been going to Raw."

I blinked. "Cite your source."

"I got friends who work on the red brand," Natalie informed me. "It's just what I've been hearing."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I didn't want to worry you. Besides, she could have made friends from her time over there. But, judging from what you told me, it's looking like..." Natalie trailed off on purpose. I huffed, biting my lower lip and staring down at my feet. I was thankful her headset was off. I hoped to handle it and get the information from Callie before the gossip started to spread like wildfire. I stood up straight, uncrossing my arms.

"Thanks, Natalie. I think I'm going to go talk to John. I'll see you later."

"Are you coming out to Roxie's with us tonight?" she asked.

"Yeah, sure. It sounds like a party." I flashed her a tight smile before walking away. My nerves were on edge the entire time I walked to John Cena's locker room. Despite being involved with Callie, I don't know him all that well. Coming to him and warning him that his girlfriend may be a traitor is not a conversation I'm relishing, but I don't want to see him caught off-guard. We all know what Evolution is capable of. We've all seen the carnage they can leave behind.

I knocked on the door. "Callie?"

I opened the door. "Close, but no cigar."

He nodded a curt greeting. "Jessa. What can I do for you?"

"I need to talk to you. I don't know what any of this means, but I want to warn you in case something happens tonight." My words had the effect of stopping him. He was tying his shoes. He looked up at me, dressed in his trademark shorts and an old Vancouver Canucks jersey. His face was a mask of confusion.

"What's going on?"

"I saw Callie tonight with Stephanie and Randy," I blurted.

"What? You're crazy." It was the reaction I thought I was going to get.

"I know it sounds crazy, but I saw it with my own two eyes," I told him.

"Then you probably need glasses," he shot back. "I know Callie. I probably know her better than you. No way she'd ever hook up with Evolution. She's loyal. She loves me." I felt my heart break when he said that, along with a little feeling of being offended at his proclamation that he knows her better than me.

"John..."

"Enough! Why are you doing this?" He stood, taking a step towards me. It intimidated me, and I had to back up. John is six-five, two hundred and forty-eight pounds of solid muscle. He took me in. The left corner of his mouth curved up and he nodded. "I knew it. You're jealous of her. You've always been jealous of Callie."

"I beg your pardon?" I blinked.

"Come off it. Callie's told me everything. About her. About you. I know that you're jealous of her. What is this really about, Jessa? Is this about the fact that she's got a great career and a boyfriend? Someone to share it with?"

"That's a low blow," I told him, my voice low. It took everything I had within me not to reach out and slap him. "I know this is off-topic, but let's make one thing clear here, John: I choose not to date. And who I share or don't share a bed with is none of your business and it's none of Callie's."

"Jess..." His expression softened. I know he felt bad. I backed away from him.

"I don't want to hear it. I came to warn you. I did that. You don't want to hear it. If you don't want to believe me, fine, but when something goes down, don't say I didn't warn you." I turned on my heels and left, slamming the door behind me. My nerves were vibrating, I was so angry.

I went back to the Divas locker room. Torrie was zipping up the bustier of her green attire. She turned to me, her face an instant mask of concern. "Jess? Are you okay?"

"Yeah. John Cena is infuriating, that's all," I told her, sitting down on the bench.

"Does it have anything to do with the rumors going around back here about Evolution and Callie?" she asked. I nodded. She sat down beside me. "Let me guess: you went to warn him and he didn't believe you?"

"Yeah. He told me I'm jealous of Callie, because she has a guy."

"What? That doesn't sound like John."

"Well, he's surprisingly defensive tonight." I shook my head. "I hate that Callie has literally spread it everywhere that I'm some kind of dateless freak."

"Oh, you're fine." She draped an arm over my shoulder. "Don't worry. If something happens, we'll know for sure. Sometimes that's how people have to learn."