iSay My Piece

It was the day before Megan's title defense and the ballroom at the Parker-Nichols Hotel had been transformed for the pre-fight press conference. It was a formal affair, so far as press events go – fight posters and promotional backdrop flanking the stage, with a large table set up, microphones and place cards at the ready.

Sam took it all in. The thing was to begin in a half hour. She wanted to be prepared.

MEANWHILE, IN THE LOBBY…

The two women brushed past one another, coming face to face for the first time in two decades. Though ages had passed, time clearly didn't heal all wounds. The moment their eyes met, they were no longer 'Women of a Certain Age'. They were fifteen and twenty-six, respectively. They spoke only single words to each other. If looks could kill, the hotel lobby would've been a blood bath.

"Maya…"

"Marx…"

It was clear that former CFC champion Maya Feckner had aged, though never truly grown up. Her embarrassing defeat by Shelby Marx's hand had forced her into retirement in her mid-twenties. She had never truly recovered. She was exactly as Shelby had remembered her, albeit an older model. Feckner still wore her hair in cornrow braids, an oddity enough for a Caucasian fighter, but now it was blonde, with hints of gray creeping in.

Passing Shelby Marx, Maya Feckner lowered her shoulder ever so slightly, the bone-on-bone collision enough to cause the slightest amount of discomfort.

That tore it. Shelby Marx had grown up, married, put the fight game behind her, and raised a family, but if this was the type of petty bullshit Maya Feckner was going to pull twenty years after the fact, Shelby would pull out all of the stops.

"It's on…" she thought.

THE PRESS CONFERENCE, HALF AN HOUR LATER…

The ballroom was filled with members of the media from all over the country, as well as a handful of foreign nations, as the press conference got under way. Megan was seated at the center of the table, Sam Puckett to her immediate left, Shelby to her right. Several feet away, challenger Jade Feckner sat, her own manager-mother next to her. The challenger glowered at the champion, who stared straight through her.

The Marx and Puckett families were well represented. Carly, Ashley, Wendy, and Freddie Benson occupied the front row. Bridget and Melanie had jumped at the chance to fawn over the new Marx child, now in the care of Sam's twin sister.

The first question came from a local sports reporter for the Times. Megan liked him very much, he'd always treated her respectfully when doing an article on her or the sport. She figured he was the kind of man she'd date if she were into men and if not for the fact that he was 'creepy old', in her own terms.

"Miss Marx, this is your first title defense after a significant layoff… Any butterflies?"

Megan didn't know what he wanted to hear, but she was the champ. If this story was to be spun, she'd do the spinning.

"This is what I do. I'm in shape, and I have a great corner. From where I sit, things look pretty dam – err… darn good, to be honest…"

Shelby was grateful that Megan had caught herself. Had that wound up on ESPN, Wendy would make sure that the Swear Jar in her kitchen was full of hundred dollar bills.

The next question came from one of the ESPN on-air talking heads.

"Miss Feckner, your prediction for the fight?"

Jade Feckner, spitting image of her mother's younger days, save for jet black hair, looked straight into the camera.

"Prediction? Yeah… Pain."

"Miss Marx, Don Plotz, Pittsburgh Post-Gazette… Do you feel you have any… well… advantage as the defending champion?"

Megan took this question and stood it on its head.

"Both of our mothers are former champions – let's face it – that's what this fight is all about… which family trained the better fighter… but, in a way, yes, I do feel I have an advantage, yes…"

Megan was intentionally vague, but she relied on subtlety to make her point. During her response, she intentionally glanced for long moments from Shelby to Sam to the spot in the crowd where her girlfriend sat. They gave her strength. She knew what she had to rely on to get through this. If Team Feckner had its way, this thing would be nothing more than a glorified street fight. That played to their strength. Megan knew that she was a better fighter. She spoke again, this time in response to a reporter from the Vancouver Sun.

"If she wins, she wins, and I salute her as the champ, but if I win…"

Megan chose her words carefully. She and Shelby had prepped for this type of baiting question. She went slightly off-script, but not so far as to earn her Mama's ire.

"…ya know, win, lose, or draw, I'm still a great fighter, I'm proud of where I come from, and I'm proud to be who I am…"

This was nowhere near what the Canadian reporter wanted, so he elaborated. He directed his follow-up to Shelby.

"Anything in the contract about a rematch?"

Shelby glared at the tall man with the Vancouver press credentials hanging from a lanyard on his neck. She gave him the Look of Death.

"I'm saying this once and once only. No Rematch. Next question…"

Shelby's commentary caused the eighteen year old challenger to go ballistic, throwing a psychotic little tantrum for the cameras.

"NO REMATCH?! I'M GONNA TAKE YOU APART!"

Instinctively, Shelby grabbed her daughter around the waist and pulled her close, before all Hell broke loose.

It was too late. Sam Puckett had a microphone in her hand. In no uncertain terms, Mama Got This. From her seat, Carly had a flashback to the press conference before her exhibition with Shelby. She could hear the voice inside her own head.

"Not good… not good… so, so, so not good…"

Sam began to speak.

"LISTEN UP, UNLESS YOU'RE AS DUMB AS YOU LOOK, MY GIRL'S THE CHAMP… YOU WANNA DANCE? YOU KNOW WHERE AND WHEN… JUST REMEMBER TO SHOW UP, CUPCAKE!"

For the first time in Sam Puckett's life, the word 'Cupcake' had been used for evil.