Chapter One
Amberlea Brennan
"Great match, Amberlea!"
My good friends John Cena and Randy Orton were waiting for me in my locker room at Ohio Valley Wrestling when I came in after my match with WWF Diva Molly Holly. John extended his hand to me, blue eyes sparkling as I slapped him with a high five. "Man, when Molly gets back up there and tells Vince what a worker you are, you're sure to get onto the main roster!" he gushed. I blushed; I couldn't help it. Sometimes I swear John is my own personal advertising firm and cheerleader all rolled into one.
"I don't know about that…" John scoffed, cutting me off.
"You sell yourself way too short, Lea. It's clear Randy and I have been doing wonders with you in the training department, because you hung out there with the best of the best tonight."
"Stop it - you're making me blush!" I chuckled, staring over at Randy Orton, who sat in the corner of the room, massive arms folded over his chest, his beady slate eyes never leaving me. His brown hair was slicked, short bangs down across his forehead, dressed in a baggy blue polo shirt and blue jeans. He's a moody guy, who always seems hard to approach and angry about something, but people never realize that it's just the way he is.
Out of the two, John is the more outgoing of the bunch, more easy to approach. I met him last year while we were both working for XPW in California, before we both happened to get snapped up by WWE and sent down to Ohio Valley Wrestling for further training. John and Randy were roommates, splitting the cost of an apartment, while I was rooming with an indy wrestler by the name of Lisa Marie Varon, who is working at the moment under the name Victoria.
Sure, life is tough down here in Ohio Valley Wrestling, where we're making tiny amounts of money and covering our own living expenses the best way we know how; I, for one, work part-time as a cage dancer (fully clothed) at a club downtown. But once a week, John, Randy, and Lisa Marie, all get together and go out for dinner. It's kind of our way to stay grounded, connected and sane when all the pressure of being the best is mounted on us. Especially Randy, who has a huge family lineage in this business going all the way back to his grandfather.
"So I cleared it by Lisa, and she's fine, but is dinner good for Saturday with you, John?" Normally, we do it every Friday after the tapings, but this week Randy had to drive into St. Louis and spend some time with his family. His grandfather, wrestler "Big O" Bob Orton, Sr., was coming in from Nevada. Randy shrugged.
"You guys just always could go without me," he murmured. I rolled my eyes at his moodiness.
"Don't you even start, Randal," I chastised him. He cocked his eyebrow at the mention of his full name; he always reacted when I did that. "It wouldn't be a night out without you and you know it." A smirk pulled at the corner of his lips before he broke out into something of a smile, satisfied that I had put a quash on his negativity.
"Yeah. Saturday is fine with me," John replied. "I was going to ask; my dad's coming in from Boston to come see me…do you mind if I invite him to dinner with us? I'd feel bad if I just stuck him at the crib and took off."
"Of course he's more than welcome, John. It'd be great to finally meet your dad." I turned my attention to Randy. "Did you want to invite your family?"
"I don't know…" Randy murmured.
"You don't have to, but at least extend the invitation if you feel like it? I'm sure your parents would like to see you more than once a month."
"It's normally for just the four of us," Randy protested. John turned to him, his face a mirror of bewilderment to mine. He sighed. "But I'll pass it along."
"Good stuff. Anyways, I'm going to head out into the crowd and watch you guys go at it."
"Which one are you going to cheer for?" John inquired. I shrugged.
"Whoever's winning." We all laughed, and I hugged John, flashing Randy a mock salute from where I was standing before leaving the locker room. It's always been moments like these that makes the indy life worth it.
John Cena
I met Amberlea last year, when we were both starting out in XPW last year. She's a few years younger than I am and a year younger than Randy, which says a lot about how crazy into this business she is. One night, she told me that she had started working the local independent circuit in her hometown at fifteen, lying about her age to promoters, before making her way down here right after high school with three years under her belt. Never mind the fact that she is drop dead gorgeous - like, model gorgeous - but Amberlea Brennan is a firecracker in the ring as well.
Lea's a ten. All the way across the board. She's tall with a hot body. Beautiful, with curved brown and blonde streaked hair and wide hazel eyes that always seemed to give away every emotion that she feels. Did I mention that she's a wildcat in the ring?
I took her under my wing at XPW. In fact, we were actually roomies at one point, for about a week, before we got picked up by OVW and moved all the way out here to Louisville, Kentucky. Jim Cornette's old lady Synn is pretty awesome; she plays the mother role with the young girls here, Amberlea especially since she's just a little shy of twenty. When she thought that a nineteen year old girl like Lea was going to be rooming with me, she squashed it right away. No way was she letting that happen. I guess she had some past experiences with other guys coming up. She set Lea up with Lisa and set me up with Randy as a roommate.
Randy Orton is a very interesting character. A moody motherfucker that exudes the confidence of an old timer. He brings out the best in me in terms of ring skill, though I'm unsure if I do the same for him. Sometimes I wonder just what he thinks of Amberlea; the way he watches her with beady eyes, as though his mind is forming something about her that he can't quite find the guts to say. I don't think he likes her very much, but it's just strange. When I ask him about it, he barely says anything, anyway. He's a man of few words. Never wastes a move in the ring, never wastes a word outside of it.
I stepped out into the little walkway that would take me to the OVW ring, where about fifty fans were booing the hell out of me and my Prototype character. A huge part of me dreams of what it would be like when the ramp is extra long, when the ring has Raw on the sides, and when the fifty fans are fifty thousand. I know Amberlea dreams of it, I know Randy dreams of it. I guess the dream of headlining WrestleMania keeps us going when we feel at our worst. Keeps me going. Being the WWE Champion one day would be a dream come true, and a good improvement over the cardboard belts my brothers and I used to craft and battle for in our back yard.
Inside the ring I waited for Randy. He made his way out, looking just as stoic and moody as he had in the back while we were talking things over with Amberlea. I turned around; she was there, in the back, leaned against the wall, dressed in her ring gear with a leather jacket over top. I winked at her and she gave me a mock salute, a smile tugging at her lips.
The match wasn't a long one; the main event was Leviathan, a guy by the name of Dave Bautista, who was fighting Kane, a huge grab for Jim Cornette to get considering his WWF schedule. But I was determined to make it as good of a match as I could, and Randy is a perfectionist in the ring. Sometimes perfection isn't even good enough for him. When the match was over, and I had hit the Proto-Bomb and defeated Randy Orton, I saw Amberlea cheering for us both, clapping her hands, a wide smile from ear to ear on her face. At the end of the day, she was our biggest supporter. I couldn't be more thankful of that.
Randy Orton
Backstage, when I had cleaned up and was getting ready to leave the arena, I found Amberlea waiting outside for me, leaned against her motorcycle. "I still can't believe they gave you a license to drive this thing." It was still relatively new to her, and a huge part of me is jealous of her for it, since I've wanted to do it. Never gotten around to it. One of these days. It was an early birthday present from her father back in Austin, Texas. He had paid for her to get her motorcycle license. Had given her one of his old ones. It had been nerve wracking meeting him; a big, burly biker guy with a beard that would have made the members of ZZ Top hang their heads in shame. I think she said his name was Charlie. Her mother died when she was young in a car accident that Amberlea herself had barely survived. She has a nasty scar on her head, but lucky for her, the hair covers it. Charlie should count himself lucky; most parents worry about their daughters getting hooked on drugs and getting drunk; Amberlea was training for a career.
"I still owe you and John a ride on this bad boy," she replied with a smile. I approached her and checked out the motorcycle.
"Kawasaki ZX 9R. Very nice," I mused. It was a candy apple red with matching rims. Obviously custom work. She did say her father ran a body shop for cars and motorcycles, though, so it wouldn't surprise me. She stared at me with wider eyes than normal.
"Good shot. I didn't know you were into motorcycles."
"One of these days I'll get my license," I told her. "How does it feel to be on one of these?"
"Total freedom," she told me. "Sometimes I still wig out when I make a turn on the road, but just the feel of the breeze ripping through the air, through your hair…it's incredible."
The doors opened and John walked out, approaching us. He whistled low. "I know you said it was nice, but goddamn."
"Thanks, Johnny; you're too sweet," she informed him. "Anyways, I should get going before Lisa calls a search party. She just about had a heart attack when this thing arrived." We all laughed, but a huge part of me was relieved to know that if John and I weren't around, at least Lisa was there to play mom to Amberlea. "I will see you guys on Saturday." She hugged me; I could smell the scent of her Vanilla Fields perfume teasing my senses. "Drive safe, Randy, and say hello to the family."
"Will do, Lea. See you on Saturday." With a wide grin and a hug to John, she was on her motorcycle and gone in a flash. John and I turned and walked towards my car; it was my turn to drive us home. "I can't believe her father gave her a fucking motorcycle."
"I know. Crazy, huh?" He shook his head. "I think I'll pass on the ride until she gets some more experience on her belt. No need for her to kill my career before it gets started."
"She made it out of the parking lot just fine," I answered. We snickered as we slid into the car. It was nice to go home after spending just about the entire day at the arena, going over matches, getting advice and performing. My night involved a shower, a bottle of Budweiser and Pantera's Far Beyond Driven album.