Chapter VI: Surprise Invitations

While Dave Batista had had his eyes on her, Orianne's visual subjects were much less appetizing than the wrestler. Two weeks after meeting Dave, she was informed that her services were required for the Diva contestant photoshoot.

"Ex-excuse me?" she stammered, on the phone with Jennifer McNay.

"Our usual studio photographer isn't available for the next two weeks and we somehow failed to notice this. I've managed to snag you a bonus for it," the head of human resources enticed.

"Somehow I don't think this is an option, is it?"

"Sorry, no. I was just trying to make it easier by you agreeing rather than me having to tell you to be there."

"Do I need to provide the theme? Or any of the props for the shoot?" Orianne hesitantly asked.

"No, it's completely standard. We're shipping the equipment with the roadcrew next week and all you have to do is show up."

"I don't need to provide any cameras?" the photographer asked, nervously picking at a stray thread on her jacket.

"Not unless you have one already that you would prefer. Boswick used the company's when we sent him out."

"Good, because I don't own any designed solely for photoshoots."

"It's not a problem," Jennifer replied, noting on her to-do list a call to Quinn to handle sending out the items Orianne would need. "Let me get some details down and I'll call you back with the time and the exact location in the arena." The head of human resources sighed with relief as she replaced the receiver on her phone. That was not all that hard, even though she knew Orianne would be a push-over. She just hated having to spring this on the poor woman as she had frustratingly thought up until about an hour ago that Boswick was still going to be the designated photographer.

Sonny Boswick was a male chauvinist pig to the utmost. He had hidden that from the company quite easily until he started photoshoots with the women of the company. Complaints had started coming in his second year with the WWE about how he flirted with the girls a little more than was comfortable for them and then, four months ago, he was accused of pinching one on the butt. It was her word against his and Jennifer needed to do something about it before the company was sued for sexual harassment. McMahon wouldn't let her fire him because he was the best photographer they had ever employed. Since then, she had managed to suspend all shoots with the women. However, the Diva contest was coming up and there was no choice.

Jennifer voiced her opinion in this regard to Vince in their weekly meeting. "You hired that woman, didn't you?" Vince asked as if departmental head was stupid.

"Yes and, as I recall, we hired her in as a ringside photographer, not a studio one."

"That's why I wanted to hire a woman," McMahon replied as if she was supposed to know. "So she could do the shoots and not Boswick."

"That would have been nice if you had told me that in the first place," Jennifer said in response, angrily putting pen to paper to make a note of the change.

"And you thought I was hiring her because of affirmative action," Vince replied, amused at himself.

"She doesn't have studio experience."

"None?"

"Not professionally."

"It's just the women," Vince answered dismissively. "As long as you can see their tits and asses, it doesn't matter the quality of the pictures." Jennifer bristled at his comment but had long since given up fighting with him over the issue. "Would you have still hired her if you knew my plans?"

"Possibly not."

"Alright then. I had to do what I had to do."

"I said 'possibly'," she replied through gritted teeth.

"Call her and get her ass down to the arena that morning," Vince stated and then began shuffling papers on his desk, looking for something in particular.

"Any special requests for the shoot?"

"Tits and ass," he replied without looking up from the agenda he was checking for the next item of discussion.

This was exactly how Orianne found herself, nervous as hell, photographing half naked women two weeks in a row. The first week the backdrop was simply white and she warned the women upon their first meeting that they should not wear anything white. Luckily, she would only have to send one upset girl back to change. After explaining the plans for the shoot, they were sent off for hair and make-up while Orianne walked around the equipment, acting as if she knew what she was doing. If it didn't involve a flash that attached to the camera or required a cord, it was not her forte. All that was set-up was all familiar from her classes in college but the woman pulled in a crewmember to stand in for some test shots. She finally dismissed him when everything seemed to be turning out alright.

First, each of the contestants had to parade through for pictures they would be using for the voting. Inexperienced with posing people, Orianne smiled broadly and told each of them to be their selves, pose as they like so it would be more natural.

Being anxious over the importance of these photos and keeping her job, she took more time than was probably necessary with each girl, which ran her over schedule. The group pictures were up next and the women were hurried haphazardly back onto the floor together. Once again, "pose natural" but it looked like crap. Orianne cocked her head sideways and then folded her arms across her chest before propping her chin up on one hand as if she was thinking about where to place them. Inside she was freaking out.

"Brent!" she called out. "Give me your opinion."

"My opinion?" The crewmember had been privy to many photoshoots but was usually just a gopher or got yelled at because one tiny thing was out of place. "The blonde there and the brunette here and…" he whispered to her, afraid he might be upsetting another photographer. Orianne had to keep from clapping her hands together and shouting for joy at Brent's suggestions. As she had hoped, he had paid attention during other shoots.

"Alright, ladies, we're almost out of time. We get to do this again next week. The backdrop is red and black, so think twice about what you bring to wear. Also, brainstorm for some poses that you would like to see for your pictures next week. I'll be all ears. Now, let's get these last ones done," Orianne explained, taking some of the pressure off of herself if these women actually did what her job was supposed to entail. With some shuffling and a few more clicks of the camera, they were done for the week.

While the divas seemed to be more concerned over their clothing, Orianne was getting her hands on as much information as she could for arranging group shoots. She also delved in past female group shoots at headquarters and was prepared to some extent this time, if necessary…which was a good thing. The women had banded together in some sort of camaraderie and came up with one pose that featured each of their assets. Of course, the point of the pose was so that each one would be focused upon and would garner votes. Next week was to be their first night on live television where each of them would be required to perform some stunt before one would be voted off the next RAW.

Orianne was quite proud of their one pose but she had to supply the rest for the groupshots. Once again, however, she gave them the freedom to do as they wished for the single shots, which would be featured in their bios and in print. When it was a wrap, the photographer lost herself in the make-shift staff lounge and caught a quick catnap before the show. She was tired of thongs, mini-skirts, make-up, and hairspray and upset that her job description didn't limit this type of work.

That night, freshly showered and absolutely exhausted from the past two weeks' events, the overused photographer snuggled under the covers of the bed and flipped to the last page she had been reading last night. After reading the same page three times, she pushed up in the bed and flipped on the television but her mind wasn't on the show either. She mentally counted up the number of books she had read since starting work at WWE. The number was startling but then she had to rethink how much of that was done in the car or on the plane. Still, she had spent every evening in her room reading while everyone else was out having a good time. Her excuse was that she wasn't much of a night person, which then landed her lunch or breakfast with Cara when they met up in each city.

Orianne remembered that Cedarius had mentioned they were hanging out in the hotel bar tonight and she slid out of the bed to rummage through her suitcase to find something suitable. She had never made plans to go out and packed nothing appropriate. Finally deciding on jeans and a white, button-up dress shirt, part of her professional travel wardrobe, she dressed and headed out the door. She was actually looking forward to being social.

The photographer pushed her door closed behind her when she heard raucous laughter from a room with a propped open door—that was Dave Batista's laugh. She headed for the room but immediately backtracked. She couldn't invite herself into a room just because the man had been exceptionally friendly with her one night and then simply acknowledged her every week with a 'hi, how ya doing?'

Ric Flair appeared at the door before she had turned around. "Orianne! Hey, girl!"

"Hi, sir," she replied.

"'Ric', call me 'Ric.' I was just about to shut the door. We were waiting on Rob to get here but he called and said he couldn't make it," Flair explained. "We're short a guy. Wanna join?" She looked hesitant and Ric added, "We don't play for money."

"Um, sure," she answered before she realized it. Her heart began to pound as she stepped through the door and her breath caught in her chest when Dave met her eyes.

"You're joining us, Orianne?" he asked. She nodded and sat down in the proffered chair.

"It is my privilege to be sharing this poker game with the wife of one of our men in Iraq," Shawn Michaels said to her with a wide grin when she was seated.

"Oh, stop it," she replied and waved him off. The two had talked within a week of her arrival in the company. Shawn's father had served in the Air Force as well and Orianne learned that Shawn himself was deeply patriotic and supportive of the troops. He was very respective of her, understanding what she had been through and not treating her any different. She had shared that irritation with him and now he took every opportunity to pick at her about it. Of course, she hadn't shared her deepest feelings regarding the war and Sloan's departure. Because of his respect, she humored him.

"Any news lately?" he asked.

"Nope. I got a letter last week but it was just the usual." Hardly, she thought. They were still fighting over her taking this position. The letter addressing her news of taking the job had taken two weeks to arrive and she had sent another e-mail defending her choice. This last letter was less harsh than the first. Instead of lashing out at her, he attempted to explain how he would rather she not be traveling so much, working so much, and living alone. He only wanted her to be as safe as possible while she was alone. In her mind, the argument was over. He had chosen his profession despite her objections and now she had chosen hers regardless of his objections.

"Better than bad news," Shawn replied.

"No doubt," she added with an uneasy smile.

"Have you met Mike?" Dave asked, noticing how she seemed to be uncomfortable with the topic of conversation.

"Yes," she answered and nodded towards Mike. "I wasn't sure you had escaped Kane's pyro tonight. Still have your eyebrows?"

"It wouldn't be the first time I lost them."

"But that wasn't because of pyro," Flair interrupted.

"That's a story I want to hear some time," Orianne said with a laugh.

"Well, see, it happened like this…" Mike began.

For the next couple of hours, Dave enjoyed the poker game like he hadn't before. She had readily agreed when they explained that they played for favors. It seemed to bring out the competitiveness in her, something he hadn't seen in the past month or so. The two of them bantered and traded insults down to the last hand of the game. While poor Mike had lost first, Dave had edged Orianne out in the end before Shawn beat him. Now Mike owed Shawn the favor, which would probably be something as simple doing his laundry.

"Well, guys, it's been a trip. I'm going to bed," Orianne announced with a yawn as it seemed they were taking a while to disperse. She was not much of a morning person despite her lie to Cara about not being a night person and the flight out tomorrow was way too early.

"You'll join us tomorrow?" Shawn asked. Dave had been debating on asking her the same question but felt he was too new to the group to invite another person in. There was more laughter with her there and he enjoyed what her presence brought, sure that the other guys felt the same way.

"We'll see," she answered and rose from her chair.

"Do you want me to walk you to your room?" Dave asked, rising from his seat as well.

"Thank you but I'm just across the hall," she demurred. Dave was grateful for his dark complexion because he reddened at the slight embarrassment. "Good night, gentlemen."

"Good night, my lady," Ric replied with his dashing grin and pulled the door open for her.

"Okay, I have a question," Orianne said as Shawn lost his last chips to Ric. "I know if you quit without losing all your money, you've lost—you owe the favor. Say you're not the first person out of the game, can you leave the table and not be considered the loser?"

"Why not? You've got nothing to lose at that point," Shawn replied, the original member of the first poker group. As competitive as guys were, that was never a concern before.

"Well, I think I'm gonna go."

"Something wrong?" Dave immediately asked.

"No, it's just…" she trailed off but the guys anxiously looked at her. "Well, there's this movie I wanted to see and it's about to come on."

"Is this a movie that you can watch with your mother?" Flair suggestively asked.

"Yes," she replied with a laugh and smacked him on the arm.

"So what is it?" Mike asked, only to keep teasing her.

"Attack of the Clones."

"You haven't seen that?"

"Well, no but I want to see the third one and I figure I should see the second one." Cedarius and Cara had good-naturedly made fun of her for not seeing either of them and she figured she needed to redeem herself.

"Bad movie. Don't bother."

"Which one?"

"The third one was at least better than the one before it."

"I thought it was better than the first one."

"The second one was nothing but a chick flick."

With the exception of Dave, the guys threw out comments left and right before digressing into arguing about the virtues of the Star Wars movies, complete with RVD making light saber noises. Orianne waited a moment and then excused herself, leaving her chips at her spot to let them do as they wish. They hardly looked up as they began arguing over who was sexier—Amidala or Leia. However, when Dave stood up, they all stopped and stared at him. "I'm going with her. I haven't seen it either. Watching movies alone is boring," he said.

Orianne couldn't believe that she was honest about watching the movie. Sloan was visiting another base during the time the second Stars Wars movie was in the theatre. He wasn't gone long enough for her to move with him but she just simply never got around to seeing it with any of her friends. She wanted to see the third one because of her fascination with anything that belonged to a dark side and, after Cedarius and Cara joked with her, she figured she might as well catch it on television while it was being aired. What she couldn't believe more was Dave inviting himself and she didn't consider it rude—just that he would rather come with her to watch a movie than play poker with his friends.

Batista himself didn't know what he had just done. When she started to leave, he wanted to go with her. He wasn't interested in her—he had sworn off women. Even more, he had sworn off married women; it was just wrong. He was amazed at the transformation in her and he slightly felt guilty at spying on her and taking pleasure in watching her change where she was comfortable.

Orianne slid the keycard into the lock and pushed it open, holding it for Dave to come in. It was then that she realized that she only had a full bed in the room. "Have a seat anywhere you like—it's rather limited," she said. "I'm gonna get out of these jeans."

Taking a seat at the table, he surreptitiously watched her rifle through her suitcase and pull out some pajama bottoms and sweatshirt. She disappeared into the bathroom and shortly returned in the other clothes and with a layer of coldcream on her face. "This okay?" she asked, pointing at the cream, and he nodded his head. "Good, I'll be a mess tomorrow if I don't," she added and settled on the bed, flipping the television on. She then took the extra pillows on the bed and propped up her left leg. When she realized that she had done that in front of Dave, she quickly put her other leg up beside the left one. "That looks uncomfortable—get over here. It's a long movie," she said, patting the bed. While the blood was coursing through her veins at him being in her room, she knew she could control herself—she was married after all, even if it wasn't happily ever.

"You sure? I'm not exactly petite like you are," he said, hesitantly rising from the chair.

"Petite? Who are you kidding?" she replied, grabbing the small swell of her stomach that she had yet to be able to work off. "I'm five-nine and a half on a good day."

"Do you want me to tell you in inches how wide my chest is?"

No, I can see that for myself, she thought. "Shut up and put your feet up. I'll even share my pillows," she said, pointing at the pillows under her feet.

"I'm fine," he replied, carefully situating himself beside her on the bed.

Dave tried to concentrate on the movie but, during the slow parts, his mind began to drift to the woman beside him. He was amazed that Orianne didn't bother tidying up her room. Two pairs of shoes were askew by the closet, clothing was spilling out of her suitcase, and papers were haphazardly lying on the table beside her laptop and PDA. For being a military wife, he thoroughly expected everything to have a place and be in it. Today's choice of socks involved hot pink and lime green watermelons. However, he couldn't believe that she wore her coldcream in front of him. He hardly ever saw Gabrielle without her make-up. If she wore a cosmetic mask, it was at the spa. Sometimes he thought she wore her make-up to bed. By the time he was up in the morning, she was back from the gym, showered, and made up. None of his past girlfriends or women friends would be caught dead with a mask on in front of a man. She also talked during the movie—Gabrielle would have killed him if he had done that. Any time he saw a mistake or something just plain cheesy, he wanted to remark on it. She would always shush him and complain. However, he and Orianne were having a fit over the line "I truly, deeply love you" as the lovers in the movie were thinking they were about to meet their deaths together.

Sitting side by side on the bed, feet propped up on the same set of pillows, and their hands resting inches apart, neither knew that this innocent moment would spark an illicit affair.

"That movie would have been really boring without you," Orianne stated, clicking the television off with the remote.

"You are truly, deeply welcome."

"Oh, stop," she replied, jerking the pillow out from behind her and smacking him on the arm with it.

"We'll have to rent the third one sometime together," he said.

"I would have seen it in the theater but I hate going alone. It seems the only good things are on when Sloan's gone."

"We'll go see something tomorrow if you want."

Orianne was floored. He wanted to go see a movie with her? "Uh, yeah."

"It'll have to be a late show. That okay?"

"Yeah. It's a date then," she responded before she realized her poor choice of words. If they registered with Dave, his face didn't show it. However, they had. He inwardly cringed at the word 'date' but he knew she hardly meant it that way. It was simply a phrase and he didn't give it another thought.

TBC…