The flight to Utah went off without a hitch. The car and hotel arrangements were all fine. Tara chatted away constantly as we went from airport to hotel and then to the room we were sharing. It was a relief when she went to shower before going out with some of the backstage crew. She did invite me, but I was feeling particularly anti-social. She came back moderately drunk and kept me awake for a while talking about her unrequited love and asking me if I could understand.

To be honest, I couldn't. When I was twenty-one, I was far too serious for my own good. I'd been in a relationship for five years and acted far too old really. That all changed a year later when we split up and I went a bit wild for the best part of a year. Then I made what I now know to be a mistake and got back together with the guy. Six months later we were married and stayed that way for six years. That's where we came in.

The next morning, I had a phone call summoning me to the arena. My probationary period was up, and I had to have a meeting with management to assess whether they wanted to take me on permanently. That's how I ended up at the arena dressed in a skirt, blouse and high heels.

Peter, the manager I was supposed to meet with was in a meeting that was scheduled to take another hour or so when I got there. To fill in the time, I wandered out and leaned on the security wall by the ramp in the main arena. Rey Mysterio and Chris Masters were running through their match for that evening and, as per usual, the smaller man was flying everywhere.

The two finished their practice and left. I wandered down to the ring and leant on the edge. I can be a bit of a worrier by nature and I was concerned about this meeting. I adored my job and wanted to keep it more than anything. However amusing it may have been to watch, I knew I should never have blown up as I had at Batista in Seattle. If that had got back, I could be in trouble. And I had a distinct feeling that fraternising with one of the show's stars probably wouldn't be greeted with great enthusiasm.

"A skirt?" I whirled round as a voice boomed out behind me. Glen stood there, hands on his hips. "Don't let Mark catch you. I don't know if the old man's blood pressure could stand it!"

"Ah, shut it," I laughed. "It's a very respectable skirt. Look, it goes all the way down to my knees."

"And all the way past your hips if I push it." Mark joined us at ringside. I hadn't seen him since the 'incident' at the hotel in Seattle. It was a relief to find that I didn't feel awkward around him.

"Yeah, and you're not going to!" I replied.

He raised an eyebrow. "And just why not darlin'?"

"Because in," I glanced at my watch, "twenty minutes, I have a meeting to see if I get to keep running round after you bunch of juvenile delinquents."

"She's talking about you," Glen stated.

"I should go wait to be called in." I ignored Glen.

"We'll probably still be down here when you get out. Come find me." Mark was already stretching out his muscles, ready to get into the ring.

"Ok," I called as I headed up the ramp. Stopping halfway up, I turned back. "Oh, and Glen called you old!" The look on Glen's face made me smirk, and I was still smiling as I got to the room Peter was using as an office.

I had to wait about ten minutes before he called me in. I took a deep breath as I sat in the chair he indicated and smoothed my skirt down.

"How do you feel you have been getting on?"

"Well, I think. I'm thoroughly enjoying the job. It can be challenging at times but I like that."

"The reports I've had about you have been mostly positive. There are, however, two exceptions. There was an argument with one of the talents in a hotel lobby?" He glanced up from the piece of paper in front of him.

"That was part of a practical joke they were playing on me as a new member of staff. I agree the loss of temper was unfortunate, but it was cleared up quickly." I started to sweat a little. I had an idea what the second matter could be.

"Right. If it's all sorted then that's fine. The other thing is a rumour that you have an involvement with one of the talents. Any comments on that one?"

"Well, I don't recall seeing anything about it in the staff handbook. Is there a rule against it?" My heart was trying to beat its way out of my chest. I so wanted to keep this job.

"Strictly speaking, no. It's not something that has occurred very much between back stage staff and talent in the past. Not that has come to our attention, anyway." Peter didn't look like he was about to fire me on the spot, so I felt more positive and able to say what I thought.

"I don't feel it has any bearing on my ability to do my job."

"Good," he said decisively. "Now we have that out of the way, as you know, your probationary period is just about up. We'd like you to stay on and expand what you do a little, start getting involved with running the autograph sessions, meet and greets and so on. Much the same sort of thing as you do for the travel. Making sure everyone gets to where they are supposed to be, that kind of thing."

"Sounds interesting." I liked the idea of getting to see the wrestlers interacting with the public. Something grated in me at the use of the word talents, but it was a minor annoyance really.

"The next autograph session is the day after tomorrow. I'll get Karen to give you all of the details." With that, the meeting was over. We shook hands and I left the office and wandered back to the ring.

Even in practice the sight of two guys as big as Mark and Glen moving round the ring was impressive. I went to the bottom of the ramp and pulled myself up to sit on the corner of the security wall, trying to remember to be lady-like and keep my knees together. I watched as they finished up and both climbed over the top rope. Glen just smiled and walked on up the ramp, rolling his neck and shoulders.

"Did you beat on him badly?" I grinned at Mark.

"Hell, no-one calls me old and gets away with it," he shrugged. "Come on, I need a shower then we'll get lunch."

"Yes boss!" I mocked, sliding off the wall.

"Don't you think you're in a dangerous position to tease me?" he asked slowly. I glanced up at him.

"Dangerous position?" He tugged the waistband of my skirt. "Oh." I started behaving immediately. Mark smirked and grabbed my hand, dragging me up the ramp. It was hard work trying to keep up with him in heels, but I managed not to fall over. He took me through to the locker room and let go of me once we were inside. Stripping off the T-shirt he was wearing, he dropped it on the floor by his bag.

"How did it go?"

I sat on a bench that ran along one wall. "OK. I think they are keeping an eye on me though." He picked up a towel and wiped the sweat of his forehead.

"Why?"

"Uh, rowing with a talent in a hotel lobby. And um… how did he put it? Oh yeah, a rumour that I have an involvement with a talent. I told him that the row thing was a joke, and the 'involvement' didn't stop me doing my job."

"They got a problem with it?" He sat on the bench beside me.

"Not a major one, obviously. I've got my job, and they want me to start helping with other stuff. Autograph sessions and such."

"Hey, what's that?" He pointed to a dark patch that showed through the white blouse. I glanced down.

"A tattoo. I've got a few."

"Oh yeah? Where?"

I laughed and tapped his thigh. "Patience. You'll get to see them all eventually." Mark looked at me, eyes narrowed slightly. He nodded once and then stood up.

"I've got to get in the shower before I stiffen up." He threw the towel over his shoulder.

"And just what am I supposed to do while I'm waiting for you?"

"If you get bored, you're welcome to join me," he replied with a wicked looking grin. "I won't be long anyway."

It has to be remembered at this point that the last few days had been spent with lurid fantasies every time I was in the shower myself. I was completely torn between ripping my clothes off and running in there and… not. I heard the water start running and noticed the door wasn't shut properly. There was another temptation – to play peeping Tom. I actually found myself on my feet and heading towards the door. It seemed that my body had decided to totally bypass my brain. Common sense tried to get a look in, telling me that going into catering with wet hair would not be a good idea. I went back to the bench.

My life has been spent as a strange kind of split personality. Some of the time I am rigidly organised and don't do anything without thinking about it for a long time beforehand, sometimes months. The rest of the time I am totally impulsive. It was that side of me that had got me to the USA and into this job. Occasionally, as at that point, the two parts clash as both try to gain dominance. At that point, anything can happen. And often has.

This time the ordered part of my brain won. I sat there, trying not to create mental pictures of what was going on the other side of that door. I failed dismally. By the time the water was turned off I was feeling a little hot and bothered and could have done with a shower of my own. A cold shower at that.

"Can you pass me my clothes?" Mark's voice came from the other side of the door. I picked up his stuff and handed it through the door. "Thanks. I thought you might be shy." It sounded like there was a hint of challenge in his words. Kind of a 'dare you'. I was never able to resist those. Swinging the door wide open, I leant against the wall, arms folded across my front. Mark looked up, surprised. He had the towel wrapped round himself and his hair was still dripping.

"Nah, I'm not shy. You?" I asked, trying for an innocent look.

"You'd best be sure you want me to answer that before you try me," he said, putting one hand on the towel at his waist. I was saved from having to answer by Glen sticking his head round the door.

"You coming to get something to eat?" The doors were slightly out of line so he couldn't actually see Mark.

"Yeah. Just let me finish up in here and we'll be right out," he called back. Looking at me, he shrugged and dropped the towel.

I'll admit to watching quite happily as Mark dressed. Who wouldn't? The guy is big, covered in muscle and I have a soft spot for tattoos. Which was a good thing in this case. The contrast between the sleeves and his body fascinated me. Of course there was the one across his throat, and across his stomach, but that was it. It gave me material for thousands of potential shower fantasies.

Catering was pretty full when we got there. Glen was already inside sat at a table and we got our food quickly (well, I did – it takes time to pile a plate six inches high!) and joined him. I looked around the room to see who was there as I started eating. Peter sat the other side of the room and was watching me, seemingly checking on my behaviour. I didn't have a clue quite what he was expecting me to do right in the middle of catering, but I just concentrated on my food and chatted to the two men with me. Once I had finished eating, I went and found Karen to get the details for the following day

I stayed away from the arena for that evening's show. I couldn't help thinking that everything I did might be reported back to Peter. Although he seemed to have taken my statement that my work wouldn't be affected, I didn't want to do anything to put my job in jeopardy. I had an early night instead.

I met up with Karen at breakfast the following morning to find out what the day was going to entail for me. Basically it was more gofer type work. I had to be there in case anything was needed. Important stuff like bottles of water for the wrestlers. Really important stuff.

It was actually great fun. Three real pros – Hunter, Shawn Michaels and Batista. The fans varied wildly. There were the die-hard wrestling fans and little kids who were totally over-awed by meeting their heroes. Some had dressed up as their favourite wrestlers. I had to laugh at the guy who was no taller than me and had come as Taker. Old School Undertaker at that. Some of the women were annoying, lots of skin showing and fluttering their eyelashes. It didn't get them anywhere with these three as they were all married.

I was really looking forward to the next day. We were due to fly to Houston. Once everyone had got there and were settled into the hotel I was going to be able to go home. I was in such a good mood when I got back to the hotel that I agreed to be dragged out by Tara. I even went so far as to allow her to pick out what I was going to wear. It was probably an error in a moment of weakness, but she held me to it.

"It's all about confidence," was all she would say.

I grumbled at what she had selected when it was time to get changed. A short black suede skirt and a tight fitting black sleeveless T-shirt. I had bought the skirt in a moment of madness when it was on sale in a small town we had visited three weeks earlier. Giving up trying to argue with her I pulled on the boots I had worn for my date with Mark. We went down to the lobby, outside and got into a cab.

"No one else coming?" I asked, surprised. Tara looked shifty.

"Just us." She wouldn't look at me and I started to get suspicious.

We pulled up outside of a bar and Tara paid the driver. The place was pretty full and noisy as we headed to the bar.

"What do you want?" Tara dug out some money.

"Apart from more clothes?"

"To drink, you idiot!" she laughed.

"Ah, give me a shot of Jack. If I've got to stand here and look like I'm enjoying myself while you drool over some guy I'll have to get drunk." The drinks arrived and I tossed the shot down and pointed to the glass as I caught the barman's eye. He refilled it and I downed that one. "That's better." Tara smiled as she sipped delicately at her drink. It was some kind of alco-pop thing. Her smile widened suddenly as she looked at something behind me. I didn't have a chance to turn round before a voice spoke just by my right ear.

"Are you trying to get yourself in deep shit?" I turned quickly and saw Glen standing behind me. It looked like he had come up for a round of drinks.

"What do you mean?"

"If Mark sees you coming out without him dressed like that, well, he won't be happy, put it like that." That annoyed me a little.

"What am I, his territory or something?"

"That's pretty much how it goes. He gets protective."

"Uhuh." Somehow that didn't manage to piss me off. I glanced at Tara. Her overly innocent look was plastered all over her face. "Who's here?"

"Me, Mark, Benoit, Adam, Amy and Batista." That explained Tara's look. Somehow she had found out where her crush was going, and that Mark would be with him. I turned and muttered in her ear.

"Did you just drag me out to get invited over with them?" She gave me the wide-eyed look before nodding, an impish grin on her face.

"You'd probably better go find him," Glen said. "They're over there. I'll grab you a drink." He peered at Tara's bottle and then looked at me.

"Beer, with a bourbon chaser." He nodded and we went to find the others.

They weren't hard to find. They had attracted some female attention. I watched passively as the girls flirted, although I couldn't help feeling angry with the tall black-haired girl who was cosying up to Mark.

Tara was practically dragging at my arm so I allowed her to pull me forward.

"Hi," I said as we got to the table. Mark looked up along with the others. His eyes moved up and down me, taking in what I was wearing. The dark haired girl put her hand on his arm, trying to get his attention. Ignoring her, he stood and stepped over to me.

"You want to go back to the hotel now?" That prompted a soft laugh from me.

"I've only just got here. Besides I, for one, am sharing a room." He took hold of my hand and stepped past the other girl, sitting down and pulling me into his lap. I fidgeted for a moment, trying to tug my skirt down my thighs. I soon stopped when Mark took a quick breath, reminding me of where I was sitting.

After smiling a quick hello to everyone else and making sure everybody knew Tara (who had put herself in a gap next to Batista and what appeared to be where Glen was sitting) I settled back comfortably and enjoyed my position. Glen came back and handed out the drinks before sitting next to Tara.

"So you must be Sara," the girl said suddenly. That was a conversation stopper. Everyone at the table, including Mark just stared at me to see how I would react. I put my beer down on the table and drank down the bourbon quickly.

"No I'm not."

"But his tattoo…"

"What about it?" If viewed from the outside it was probably quite funny. Everyone's eyes were going back and forwards between the two of us as if they were at a tennis match.

"It says Sara," the girl insisted.

"Damn. You know, I'd never noticed." The bourbon had kicked in just enough to make me sarcastic.

"But…"

"Look," I snapped, patience giving out, "He got someone's name inked on him. They split up. Is he supposed to stay celibate for the rest of his life? Only date people named Sara?"

"My name's Sara," she muttered.

"Congratulations. I'm not going to hand him over though." Turning away from her, I felt Mark's arm tighten round my waist, pulling me in tighter against him. I looked at Tara and rolled my eyes. Conversation sprung up again and when I glanced back, the girl had gone.

After that the rest of the evening was great fun. I wriggled off Mark's lap in the end and sat next to him. Tara was flirting with all her might, leaning in and repeatedly touching Batista. He bore it with good will, while trying not to do anything to encourage her. She was beginning to get a bit full on as she drank more.

"Maybe I should get her back to the hotel," I muttered to Mark. He glanced across and nodded.

"Give me your address. We probably won't get much chance to talk tomorrow and I still want to find out where those tattoos are."

I grabbed a paper napkin and scrounged a pen off someone. "You can see one right now." I pointed to the Celtic armband round my right bicep. "Though that's about the only one I'll show you in public."

"When can I see the others?" he asked, pushing me gently with his shoulder.

I considered for a moment. "Soon." Handing him the napkin, I gave him a quick kiss and rose from my seat. "Come on Tara, I'm beat." She shot a glance at me and got up reluctantly, leaning on Batista for support. "See you guys in the morning."

Tara sulked pretty much all of the way back to our room. No matter how many times I tried to tell her that the guy was married, had kids and was nearly twenty years older than her, she wouldn't listen.

"Taker's older than you," she muttered.

"True, but not by so far. One decade rather than closer to two. And I'm older than you. It all gets less noticeable as you get older. And that's not even taking into account the fact that you're married as well. Shit, you've not even been married a year." I knew I was sounding preachy. It was a throwback to when I was younger and a firm believer that marriage was forever. That changed later when I chose to divorce my husband, as there was nothing on earth going to make me happy in my marriage. It was better for both of us that way.

By the time we actually got into our room, the alcohol in my system had made me really sleepy. It was all I could do to take off my make up and grab a T-shirt to sleep in.

By the following afternoon I was back in my own little apartment in Houston. After a long hot bath I decided that I had better phone my mother as I had promised. Working out the time difference made it early evening in the UK, which was usually a good time to catch her. She answered the phone quickly.

"Hi Mum." I snuggled down into my chair.

"Jade! I thought you were never going to call." There was just a hint of reproach in her voice.

"Sorry. I've been busy. Anyway, I'm home now. I'll be here most of the week."

"Come on then. Tell me about the other night! What happened?"

"I should have known that was what you'd want to talk about! We had dinner together."

"Was it a date? Come on Jade, give me details!" I had to laugh at that. Despite being the wrong side of sixty sometimes she can behave like a total teenager.

"Yes, it turned out to be a date. His name is Mark and he works for the same company I do."

"You have to give me more than that. What does he actually do, is he nice and respectable, how old? Give me specifics." Talk about three of the trickiest questions she could ask.

"He's in public relations. He can be nice, although I'd hate to see his face if he heard himself being described like that. Respectable? Not particularly, not what you would call respectable and he's a few years older than me." None of it was a total lie. Performing involved interaction with the public, after all.

"How many years older?" Mum had always had a way of cutting straight to the heart of any matter that might bother her, and this was no exception.

"Er, ten," I said hesitantly.

"I see. And what does 'not particularly respectable' mean?"

"One little word that always horrifies you Mum – tattoos. Lots of them."

"So I take it he has more than Ben then." Everything to do with men and me always went back to Ben.

"Ever so slightly Mum. Ben had three. I have no idea how many Mark has actually got. It would take forever to count them."

"Are you sleeping with him?" My mother believes in being direct. It annoys the hell out of me sometimes, but does actually make life easier in the long run. I'd always been able to talk to her about anything, right up until I left Ben.

"Not yet. By the way," I changed the subject abruptly, "I got the tickets for the wrestling."

Once the conversation got onto safer ground we chatted for quite a while, giving me a chance to catch up on the family gossip. It ended with Mum promising to call me three days later, on my birthday.

Next morning I bounced out of bed bright and early. I was going to buy myself a birthday present and was incredibly excited about it. After a lightning shower and breakfast, I got dressed and headed out on the bus. People looked at me strangely, but I didn't care.

You see, I was going to test ride a couple of motorbikes. I'm a British born and trained rider, so wear a full leather suit and crash helmet whenever I ride. It looks a bit weird on the bus though. As soon as I knew the date I would be back in Houston I had called the dealer and arranged to check some out. My bike was one of the things I had hated most leaving behind when I emigrated.

I fell in love with one the second I sat on it. A 600cc sports bike in black, with silver tribal designs up the side. It looked fast and it was. Just under a year old, it took up most of the money I had brought to the US with me, but I felt it was worth every single cent. All the paperwork was done and the bike was taken away. It needed to be prepared for me to pick it up the following day. It was going to be good to have transportation again.

The trip out to the arena for that night made me look forward to the following day. There were three events in Texas that week. Raw was in Galveston, then Smackdown in Pasadena and finally the Vengeance pay per view in Houston. All were close enough for me to have thought that travelling was a good idea, but getting to Galveston was a bit of a bitch.

Mark wasn't on Raw that night, but there were a couple of great matches. Rey Mysterio did the 619 on Carlito through every side of the ring. It's just one of those moves that you can't understand. How does he get through those ropes every single time without cocking it up? Then there was a good old-fashioned 'slobber knocker' as JR would say between JBL and William Regal, full of big hits and power moves.

After the last match of the night started between Mark Henry and Kurt Angle, I made my way through the back to find Tara. She was packing up her stuff ready to be moved to the arena at Pasadena. Flopping down into a chair, I watched her putting all the stuff into its little compartments. For a few minutes I wondered if she wasn't talking to me after dragging her out of that bar, but eventually she snapped the box shut and sat in another chair.

"Jerry rang me today."

"Oh?" Jerry was her husband.

"He says we need to talk. There are some things we need to sort out." She ran a hand through her hair.

"Any idea what?"

"Oh yeah." She took a deep breath. "Babies. He wants 'em. Plural."

"And you don't." It didn't need to be a question. Her expression told me exactly what she thought of the idea.

"I've got some holiday due. I guess I'll have to take it and go see him. You got any kids?"

"No. Never wanted them. Other people's are OK, mostly 'cos I can give them back after a while. I've got a nephew I'm quite fond of, but other than that kids and I don't really see eye to eye."

"Well," she said, getting up from her chair, "No point in worrying about it 'til I get there. You want to go get a drink?"

"I should start back. Public transport's a bitch, especially if it gets late. I'll see you at Smackdown."

"Hey, you got that thing you were talking about? You said you'd bring it!"

"I'm picking it up tomorrow. It'll be at the arena in Pasadena." I was pleased she had given up sulking at me, but I felt for her over this thing with Jerry. It was perfectly obvious that she didn't want kids. She loved her job and the travelling it involved, not to mention it allowed her to drool over a certain wrestler. And she was young too. Made me start to feel a little old as I stared the end of my twenties in the face.