Authors Note: So I was originally working a Chapter for 'Confide in Me', and this story just hit me. I don't have an outline like I did for 'Follow Me Home' and 'Some Kind of Bliss', so you will have to bare with me on this guys. I know what I want to happen, but not how to resolve it. But I'm excited to write this, as I want closure for my first Randy and Trish pairing.
This is third part of my Randy/Trish pairing. The first was 'Follow Me Home' and the second was 'Some Kind of Bliss'. I try to write each story as a stand-alone and not refer back to much to the previous two stories, so you don't have to have read the first two in order to read this. But it would be easier to as you'd have a better sense of these two people are and where they're coming from and what's happened in their lives.
Reviews are welcomed and very much encouraged, because they give me the reason to continue on with what I write. If you don't like something I write, please be constructive with your comments, and please don't throw anything...I'm still knew to this.
I own nothing and not a single person in this story (unless stated otherwise). If I did, I'd be as rich as Vinny Mac (who does own all this stuff) and wouldn't be doing this right now. So please don't sue ok? Hope you guys like. Please read and review:)
"Alright Trish, give me some more cleavage. That's it, angle your body a little more towards me. Perfect! Okay, we're shooting!"
Trish did her very best to keep the flicker of annoyance from crossing her face. How well she actually did, only the people around her could tell. Fixing that well known, sultry smirk on her face, Trish did as she was instructed, leaning a little further over the edge of the bed so her breasts were on full display for the camera.
Beauty shots were one thing, and even erotic she could cope with if the situation called for it. But Trish drew the line at being blatantly smutty, and it was surprisingly fine line when you were having your picture taken in an extremely revealing lingerie set.
It's the price you have to pay for success Patricia, she reminded herself. She had chosen this career, so she just had to suck it up and get on with it.
After being released from her contract with the WWE almost eight months ago, Trish hadn't exactly sat around idly as the time passed. Far from it - after a month of decorating the home she now shared with her husband in St. Louis, and endless coffee mornings with her mother, her mother in law and ex-WWE divas Nora 'Molly Holly' Greewald and Lisa 'Ivory' Moretti, Trish had realised she would go stir crazy being sat at home doing nothing.
Many had assumed she would move into the world of acting, as most former professional wrestlers seemed to do, and actively pursue a career in Hollywood. Fuelling those rumours, Trish had been involved in several television spots, hosting 'Saturday Night Live', and appearing on numerous talk shows ranging from Tyra Banks to Oprah. But in truth Trish had no active desire to move into the world of acting. Sure, she wanted to keep busy and performances on television could be fun, but more than anything Trish craved a sense of normality to her life which had been missing since she joined the WWE.
Trish just wanted a life that was her own, and not dictated to her from a view of business needs as apposed to her own personal happiness. Trish had taken measures whilst still being with the WWE to become greater than she was. But after being involved in several high profile matches, Trish had been forced to realise that ultimately, she was simply a lucrative pawn in the masterminded scheme of the Chairman. Her relationship with Vince was a great better than it had been when she'd left the WWE. Indeed, many in the wrestling community felt he had mellowed considerably, perhaps as he was winding down his involvement with the company, intent on passing on the reigns of power to his children.
The choice to return to the company was cleary left open to Trish. Anytime she wanted back in, she needed only make a single phone call, and she would be right back in things. Of course she missed the glare of the lights and the raw of the crowd, but Trish wasn't left with an overwhelming desire to back to the company.
Deciding on a different course of action than wrestling and acting, Trish had held several meetings with designers and artists from different fields, wanting to find a new direction to push herself into. It turned out, Trish had quite the flair for fashion, and had successfully designed her own range of Women's Lingerie, entitled 'Stratusfied'. They had been the hottest designs ever to grace stores, with many shops finding it difficult to keep up with the high demand from the consuming public.
Soon, Trish had her very own expanding little business, which was outdoing all expectations anyone had originally held for the former-sports entertainer. Capitalising on her success, Trish jumped on the band-wagon of the celebrity world, releasing her own line of perfumes. The first had been entitled 'Stratusfaction', which outsold anything by Beyonce, Jennifer Lopez and Britney Spears had produced in their debut efforts. Indeed, it seemed as though Trish really had the 'Midas touch' and was flavour of the month…for the past eight months.
Well into the planning stage for her second scent, and designing a new range of strapless bra's, Trish had been called for a photo shoot. It seemed to make sense that as Trish was the designer of the garments, that she would model them for publicity and promotion purposes.
And that had led her to this particular studio, where she sprawled across a bed covered with heady crimson satin sheets, writhing in her 'Barely-There' range of underwear. Contrary to popular belief, she had never been comfortable with this level of exposure. She was a simple, almost shy girl at heart, and being stripped down to her underwear still gave her a feeling of nerves that she could never get past. It was a closed set, with only the most essential people needed being present, and still Trish was definitely uncomfortable with all these pairs of eyes staring at her.
Besides, from the vantage point, Trish could see a conspicuous 'lump' in the front of the light operators jeans. Deciding not to think about it anymore than she had to, Trish emptied her mind of all uncomfortable thoughts, re-pouting her frosted red lips as the photographer barked instructions on which way to pose.
Motion from the side of the set stole away Trish's attention, causing the photographer to curse aloud. In fact, Trish's assistant Phoebe was cautiously edging her way towards the bed, holding Trish's open phone in her hands. Mouthing the word 'Randy' at the blonde Canadian, Phoebe blushed intense red as she was berated by the representative of the company producing Trish's underwear.
Shaking her head, Trish carefully extracted herself from the sheets, grabbing her white robe from the make up artist, quickly covering herself up as she walked over to take the call from Phoebe.
"Uh, Trish darling! We're still shooting!" The exasperated cry came from the photographer, handing his camera to one of his 'minions' as another made a show of fanning him down.
"We're taking a break Martin." Trish shot back curtly. She was fed, tired and cranky to boot, not to mention the dull ache she had in her hips from twisting and turning herself into a myriad of positions to satisfy the photographer's 'vision'. Smiling softly at Phoebe, Trish gently patted the short, dark haired girl on the back she took the phone from her.
Holding the receiver to her ear, Trish chewed her bottom lip nervously as she spoke. "Hello?"
It was amazing to Trish, that even after almost two years together, she still got the same school girl butterflies when it came to her husband. Randy Orton was one of the sexiest men alive, as he would gladly tell you himself. Apart from his 6 foot four frame of solid, sculpted muscle and handsome, chiselled features, his personality was as charming as it was intoxicating. You couldn't help but feel attracted to Randy, no matter who you were. His power over women was undeniable, as was his connection to any guy. He was every woman's fantasy, and every man's best friend.
And best of all, he was Trish's husband. His voice was low and sexy, with Trish just picturing the curve of his beautiful lips as he spoke the words. "There's my baby girl."
Giggling, Trish sat herself on the make up chair as people fussed around her. "Hey baby. I've missed you."
"I've missed you more baby," Randy purred, sending tiny goose bumps erupting over Trish's skin, "real bad too. What are you doing?"
Trish considered the words as she spoke, her lips curving into a smile "Writhing around on a bed in my underwear." She giggled softly at the sound of Randy exhaling slowly as he pictured the sight in his head.
"That's the shit baby. Tell me more." Trish giggled louder as she heard the zip of Randy's pants go down, only imagining what he was up to. Realising now perhaps wasn't the best time to be conducting a brief bout of phone sex, Trish changed the subject.
"Down boy. It's a photo shoot. Where are you?" Trish heard Randy's sigh of frustration, and the sound of his shuffling around on the other end of the phone.
"Uh…that's why I called. You're still in L.A right?" His voice sounded hopeful, peaking Trish's interest.
"Yeah, I'm here till Thursday. Why's that?" Trish carefully folded one leg beneath her, as someone took a curling iron to the back of her hair.
"We're flying in tomorrow for RAW." Randy's response caused Trish to sit up straighter in her chair, causing the hairdresser to drop the curling iron to the floor.
"Seriously?" Trish squeaked at an embarrassingly high decibel. Feeling the colour flush to her cheeks, Trish could hear Randy chuckling on the other end of the line.
"Yeah. Where are you staying?" Randy's voice sounded hopeful. He was more than excited at the prospect of meeting up with his wife after five weeks apart.
"The Hilton, in San Gabriel." Trish noted, checking with Phoebe who nodded from the side as she flicked through Trish schedule. Having worked with Trish for the past five months, Phoebe now knew instinctively that when it came Randy, Trish would literally drop everything to be with him. Furrowing her brow, she began the arduous task or re-organising her appointments for the rest of the week.
"Alright, well I'm flying into LA X tomorrow at 8am. Meet you there?" Randy's voice sent another round of shivers down Trish's spine as she pictured seeing Randy.
"Yeah, sure thing. Okay baby, I'm going to have to love and leave you. I think my photographer is about to burst an artery. I'll call you later though." Trish's voice hinted at her disappointment. From across the studio, Martin was throwing a huge hissy fit, screaming and shouting at random people as he threw a divaesque tantrum.
"Okay baby. Have a good shoot. I want to see those pictures." Randy growled down the phone, causing Trish to bite her bottom lip.
"I'll give you a personal showing of the actual underwear. I love you baby." Trish hated to end the conversation, but Martin had progressed to throwing things around now.
"I love you too. Miss you baby girl." Trish sighed at Randy's last words as the line went dead. It wasn't the easiest thing to conduct a long distant relationship. Truthfully, Trish felt a little guilty at building her career. If she didn't have her own schedule to adhere to, it was much easier to organise time to be with Randy. But she doubted she would be any kind of company if she didn't have something to keep her occupied.
Randy loved Trish's independence and her drive. Who would she be if she didn't have a career? Sighing animatedly, Trish steeled herself for the next round of pictures. This shoot was most likely to last well on into the evening, and god only knew what kind of mood she would be in by the end.
Hopping off the seat, Trish marched back across the studio, shedding her robe a long the way. Stepping onto the bed, Trish dropped to her knees, the sating sheets pooling all around her as she did so, prreparing to get herself back into position so they could resume work. Noting Martin was still thrashing around in the corner uncontrollably, with people trying to calm him down out of the self imposed rage he was seemingly locked in.
Furrowing her brow, Trish rested both hands onto her hips as she bellowed. "Excuse me! We have a shoot to get done today if you don't mind!"
Gauging Martin's reaction, she was expecting an earful of abuse, not to mention the apology she knew he would expect from her, being the 'artiste' that he was. Grunting in frustration, Trish carried on, cutting Martin off before he could one syllable out.
"Hold it! Listen bitch, there is only one diva in this room, and it sure as hell ain't you! Now either you shut your fuckin' mouth and start taking the damn pictures, or I kick your ass out of the studio and get someone else to do the job instead. You're replaceable. I'm Trish fuckin' Stratus. Now quit your bitchin' and move it!"
The room was shocked into stunned silence. Never, in Martin DeCartier's illustrious photography career had anyone ever spoken to him in such a manner. His minions fully expected him to explode in Pompeii promportions and storm out of the studio, refusing to work with Trish ever again. And surprisingly enough, he simply reached down for the camera and quielty ordered for shooting to begin again.
Trish rested herself down onto her arms, making sure her backside stuck out well and truly into the air, giving the best bedroom eyes she was capable of as she stared at the camera, trying to ignore the man behind it as the shutter went off in rapid flickers. Glad that the situation had calmed down, Trish knew she had meant every word she had said.
She was Trish Stratus, and she would be dammed if someone else called the shots on her photo shoot.