Chapter Four
Randy Orton
"Hurry up, John! Jesus, you were just getting beer!"
I checked my watch again for what seemed like the eighth millionth time. Of course, he just had to procrastinate and wait until Raw started to go out and get the beer. I had a couple bowls of chips on the coffee table, in honour of Amberlea. Shelton Benjamin, Lisa, Charlie Haas and another female wrestler by the name of Irina. Irina and Charlie were seated on the floor.
"I can't believe she made it already!" Irina pouted, "She's only been with us a couple of months." I could sort of feel her pain. But this girl couldn't chew gum and walk at the same time. That's why she's been stuck at OVW for about a year and a half. A huge part of me didn't think she would make it; not with the current landscape of women's wrestling. Not like I'd tell her that right now; I'd look like a total dick.
The front door finally opened and John appeared with a box of Budweiser. "I didn't miss it, did I?"
"Not yet. Cutting it a bit close though," I answered. John slid his shoes off - I'm pretty anal retentive about no shoes on in the house - and joined us in the living room, manoeuvring the box of beer around the chips and pretzels and peanuts.
"It was crazy at the liquor store for a Monday," John mused, sitting down on the floor beside Charlie. I grabbed a beer and cracked it open. I didn't know how to respond to John's observation, so I just sat back and continued to watch Raw, sipping on warm beer that we had no time to chill, thanks in large part to John taking his time.
A huge part of me was worried about how Amberlea was going to fare in her first match, but she had quite the head on her shoulders for her age. Plus, Trish Stratus seemed to be the Divas ring general, so it was a good to know that she was in more than capable hands tonight, even if her opponents wound up being green jobbers.
Finally, I heard Molly Holly's music. She was coming out to the ring with Jazz. I assumed that this was the tag match. Between Molly, Trish and Jazz, I knew at that moment that Amberlea had nothing to worry about.
We broke into cheers when Amberlea came out with Trish Stratus, the two of them dressed in matching outfits. I shook my head; my feelings were mixed about that. On one hand, it looks good that they look like a polished tag team, but on the other hand, it doesn't do anything to establish an identity for Amberlea right out of the gate. Deciding it was probably Amberlea and Trish's idea of feminine bonding, I let the thought go. Amberlea looked so happy; I couldn't tell she was nervous. Trish was talking to her the entire way, a stoic expression on her face, while Amberlea was nodding at what I knew was nothing more than veteran advice.
The match itself was good; Trish, Molly and even Jazz gave Amberlea a lot of time to show everybody what she could do and she didn't let us down. She was tight, solid; no botched spots. The crowd screamed when she hit a standing moonsault.
"Where in the hell did she learn that?" I asked incredulously, practically spitting my beer out. Lisa grinned.
"She and I have been practicing. It's still a little bit sloppy, but she's sure breaking everything out."
"That's what you do when you have to impress," Shelton replied, drinking his beer. I was focused on the match, critiquing every little thing I could so I had something meaningful to tell her when she got back.
"You're awfully quiet, Randy," John observed. I nodded.
"We're helping her, remember? I want to be sure that we can go over this match with her when she gets back." He nodded, sipping on his beer and resting back on the couch. I turned my attention back to the television. I wanted to do everything I can to make sure she succeeds; after all, I know she would do the same for me.
Amberlea Brennan
Trish and I burst through the curtains, shouting and giving high-fives to each other. It had been her idea to dress alike, to give ourselves the illusion of being a well-polished Diva tag team. I thought it was a great idea. I already had some vinyl pants; but she lent me one of her shirts.
I think I had a great match. Trish went over with a Chick Kick to Jazz, who has been one of her biggest rivals as of late, along with Lita. "Great job out there, Amberlea," she informed me in her soft voice. "I can see why Nora's been raving about you."
"Thanks, Trish. It really means a lot to hear that."
"Your moonsault was a bit sloppy, but you made the target. But you're very solid in the ring. Way better than I was when I started."
"Thanks." I couldn't stop beaming. I turned, crashing into Stephanie McMahon. "Oh, my God! I'm so sorry!" If I hurt her, she didn't show it, or even acknowledge it.
"What a great match!" Stephanie told me, her wide brown eyes even wider with excitement. "You sure made a statement out there. That should be what women's wrestling is about!"
"Thank you, Miss McMahon…"
"Stephanie. Please. Everyone here calls me Stephanie. And, Trish…was this your idea to do the matching outfits?"
"It was kind of a joint effort," Trish informed her. Trish was either being too modest, or trying to make me look really good, because it was entirely her idea. Stephanie nodded, as though she were impressed with our initiative, joint or not. She gave me a congratulatory slap on the back.
"I need to go talk to my dad, but keep up the good work, Amberlea. Welcome to the World Wrestling Federation." I nodded and she took off down the hallway. Turning to Trish with a bewildered expression on my face. She chuckled it off, draping a friendly arm around my shoulder and leading me back towards the Divas locker room to clean up and watch the rest of the night unfold on the monitor.
When I landed in Las Vegas, Trish Stratus was there to meet me, ready to go over our match and to pick me up. I guess the McMahon family or Jim Ross had told her to look out for me on my first time in. Which she had really gone above and beyond to do. From the airport, we went out for lunch, talking about the paths that led us to the World Wrestling Federation. She was a fitness model before WWF came knocking at her door. When she found out I wasn't even legal drinking age - or the age to rent a car - she just about had a heart attack. She offered to be my permanent travel partner, and I agreed to it. Who better to learn from than the woman that was single-handedly getting ready to take the wrestling industry by the throat? Between her, Lita - whose real name is Amy Dumas, Nora and Jazz - whose real name is Carlene, and Ivory - another Lisa!, I figure I should be okay if I have any questions.
Inside the Divas locker room, Ivory, Jacqueline, and Amy were seated in chairs, watching the show progress. The girls started applauding when I walked in with Trish. "Hell of a match tonight," Amy told me. I nodded.
"Thank you." I sat down with Trish. I was so glad there was such a strong internal reaction to the match. Trish, Nora and Carlene had gone out of their way to make me look like a star, and for that, I would be eternally indebted to them. It really was the three of them that made my dreams come true.
John Cena
I think Randy is a bit salty about the fact I waited so long to go out and get the beer. Had I known he had invited a bunch of people over to watch Amberlea's debut match tonight, I totally would have gone out and gotten it way earlier. He probably figures he told me; he's had a lot on his brain lately. His whole family is a bit worried about his grandfather living all the way in Nevada, while everyone was back in St. Louis. I don't think he'd ever admit it, but I know the family's stress is wearing on him, on top of the stress of being a third generation wrestler trying to fill his family's shoes. It's not easy; I don't envy it.
Amberlea's match was great tonight. The girls made her look like a star, but made it clear the tag match was about Trish and Jazz's rivalry. Trish and Amberlea had a lot of chemistry in the ring together, as did Nora and Amberlea. It was definitely one of the better women's wrestling matches I've seen recently, and I know that if Amberlea was that good on her first outing, then when she reached her full potential, she would be unstoppable.
Randy went to bed about an hour ago. Quiet, stoic. Whatever's going through his head, I couldn't tell you. He's one of those silent types that everybody should worry about, a ticking time bomb, a moody bastard. Not that he'd ever take things out on me or Amberlea. But he does have some unresolved rage issues, I think.
I can hear some Drowning Pool in his room; he was reflecting. He always did that; just lay in the dark, listening to some of his hard rock music. Shaking my head, I put the beer bottles in the recycling and bagged the remaining chips and pretzels. I volunteered to clean up tonight; that's how I reflect.
Amberlea would be back tomorrow, since this was pretty much her tryout match on Raw with cameras. She had already had a tryout match about two months back against Jazz that had seen her get absolutely crushed. Poor Lea had been in pain for three days after Jazz had finished stretching, pulling and slamming on her. But she still never missed a single day of training at OVW. She was there on a daily basis, going over arm drags with everybody down there. Even Jim Cornette had commented a few times for her to take a day to rest up. But she never did. Even when she was at home, visiting with us, she'd test out moves on us, drawing sketches and outlines for promos. She is a beast. Her work ethic is what's going to win her over in the end.
We're a trio that's going to make it in the business, dominating within hopefully the next five years. I can see it. Within the next five years, the three of us will be household names in the WWF, and we'll all look back on these days as nothing more than fond memories. The three of us who made it together on our own terms. I don't even think a novelist could write that shit better.