Disclaimer: All characters are owned by the McMahon family and World Wrestling Entertainment. The song is 'Cut My Hair' by The Who (and I can't even tell you how long it took to find!)
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Why should I care
If I have to cut my hair?
I've got to move with the fashions
Or be outcast.
I know what you're probably thinking. Why would a man who so overtly proclaims himself to be at the cutting edge of fashion even attempt to grow the wonders that are, or rather, were, my sideburns? Surely those can't be in fashion! And that's true. But you see, style is individual, taking what the designers see as the next big things (and no I'm not talking about that no-necked monstrosity Brock Lesnar) and adding your own personal spin on them to achieve true stylistic perfection. With my sideburns, I had this. From top to toe I was straight from the cover of next month's GQ - a fashion leader, a trend for the future, a one-man runway show. Now, without my sideburns, I'm what I always feared. I'm average.
A sob catches in my throat and I can't see for the tears in my eyes. Torrie appears as through a kaleidoscope, standing before me, holding my hand, stroking it with long, delicate fingers, her nails flawlessly manicured. But I can't enjoy this touch, oh no. I have her touch, I have her sympathy. I don't want her sympathy! I want her love. But I can't have it. She would never love me. Not only am I a hideous Quasimodo with a mammoth failing of facial hair, but she's in love with someone else. And then, to rub it in, he decides to show up.
He speaks to Torrie first, just as I would, had I the choice between the two of them.
"I just called Steph. Everything's taken care of."
"Oh good!" Torrie smiles. "Look, Billy. He woke up."
"Hey," Kidman smiles, turning to me. "How you feeling, champ?"
How am I feeling? How am I feeling? My life is over, Torrie Wilson will never love me and you, ferret boy, are luckier than you could ever know. I'm far into my session of self-despair and sulking, so I don't even bother to answer. I don't need to. Superboy here has decided to go on.
"Looks like they did a good job of putting you back together. You were a real mess when we brought you in here."
I turn my head to glower at him, my jaw tightening despite the pain.
"They shaved my sideburns," I hiss through clenched teeth.
"Yeah, they had to," Kidman confirms with a casual nod. "Those little jerks gave you a few good ones. You needed some stitches. Looks good though, right Torrie?"
"Yeah," she agrees, though she doesn't mean it. I can tell.
"They shaved my sideburns!" He doesn't seem to understand that these sideburns mean more to me than the sum of their parts, and now someone has seen fit to send them floating down a drain awash with shaving cream and water, reducing them to no more than tiny fragments of filamentous protein.
"It's hair, dude," Kidman replies, an ironic little smile on his face. And of course to him it is just hair. To him hair is just something to be pulled back into a ratty ponytail and hidden under a baseball cap. Hair is something to be washed no more than once every lunar cycle, just to prevent it from becoming dreadlocks because that, of course, would be making a fashion statement. Hair doesn't make statements. It just is. In happier times I would feel sorry for this attitude, but right now I'm far too busy feeling sorry for myself.
"You don't understand," I mutter, knowing that a frown is unattractive, but not managing to stop myself.
"They'll grow back," Torrie assures me, and at that moment I hate her. Surely she must understand. How would she feel if someone decided to shave her head without asking? I shudder at the thought. What a tragedy it would be.
"You don't understand."
"I do understand, Rico," she tells me, patting my arm. "But it's going to be okay. Life goes on."
"They were my life!" I growl so savagely that I'm sure I must have spat on her. "They were my reason for living, my joie de vivre. They were not…just…sideburns!"
"Well, you've got almost a week to get those sideburns back, good as new," Kidman announces. "I just spoke to Stephanie and told her what happened. She says you shouldn't worry about coming to work until next Thursday's SmackDown. So you can go home, grow your sideburns, do some shopping, watch some Oprah."
Oprah? Oh how I loathe you, Billy Kidman. And yet, look at what he just said. With those words, he's given me a reason to become reclusive for a week. To hide my scarred face from anyone who may consider mocking me. To regroup regarding Torrie. And though I love my job, here, now, the whole idea of some time off seems absolutely perfect.
"Thank you," I say quietly.
"No problem, man," he smiles. "I mean, it was kind of me and Torrie's fault. We should have been looking out for you, since you went there with us. Oh, but speaking of that, they'll probably let you go today, and when they do, you've gotta go to the police station and make a statement. They caught the little bastards who did this, and me and Torrie told them what happened, but I guess they need to hear from you before they can charge them."
I ponder this for a moment - this need to make a statement and the situations leading to my stay in hospital and the removal of my sideburns. It was simply a misunderstanding. I was being somewhat too friendly with the girlfriend of the head honcho and he and his buddies laid me a beating. I probably would have done the same, to tell you the truth. And yes, it's tragic for me, but those are the facts.
"I don't want to make a statement," I announce.
"Why not?" Torrie frowns. "What they did to you, Rico, it shouldn't be allowed to happen at all."
"It was just a misunderstanding," I tell her tiredly. "In many ways, I deserved it."
"No you didn't!" she insists. "Why should you be persecuted for what you are! Things like this happen too often, Rico. You have to make a statement so they can be stopped. It's not your fault. Why should these thugs be allowed to gang-beat you just because you're gay?"
And that's it. I've had enough.
"Get out!" I snap.
"Rico?" Torrie frowns.
"Get out!" I yell again. "I don't want you here anymore. Just get out and leave me alone."
"Are you…"
"Leave me alone!"
And finally they go, Torrie and Kidman, side by side. The dam breaks once more and I burst into tears, weeping loudly into my hands, my chest heaving as I gasp for air. It's all too much. My sideburns, my Torrie, gone. I can't take it. It's too much.
* * * *
It's Wednesday when the phone call comes, the day before I have to return to life. I'm not ready. I've spent the last few days inside my apartment, sitting on my couch, watching TV and eating vast quantities of Belgian chocolates and gourmet Rocky Road ice cream, not caring that they'll both go directly to my hips. Rocky Road. An apt metaphor for my life of the moment.
Sometimes my toy poodle Donatella joins me for a particularly good program, but most of the time, even she can't stand to be around me. Not that I blame her in the slightest. I am wearing sweatpants (sweatpants!) and a ratty T-shirt some distant relative bought for me as a joke on a trip to France when I gushed to them beforehand about all the fashion opportunities they would have. Even I, Rico, own sweatpants and a food-stained T-shirt, although these stains are fresh and from Rocky Road ice cream, so I'm really not sure if that counts. On my face is a thick, unkempt batch of facial hair that I must somehow tame before venturing back to work tomorrow. The doctors told me not to shave until my stitches dissolve, and I'm taking that advice very much to heart in the attempt to recreate the former splendor of my sideburns. My eyes are red from too many sleepless nights and waking from nightmares where Torrie Wilson had thick sideburns and Billy Kidman wore a long white gown and kept giving me come-hither glances. Needless to say, I've woken up screaming several times this week. Frankly, I look like a wino. I know this because while I was walking home from the grocery store yesterday, carrying enough ice cream and candy to keep me going, someone offered me a dollar. But it's only while watching 'Clueless' for the third time running (don't even get me started on how much I love that movie), with Donatella licking another fresh Rocky Road stain from my shirt, that I realize I've hit the bottom of the barrel. I want to burst into tears. I want to pick myself up by the collar of my shirt and shake some sense into my stupid mind. I want to glare into a mirror until the full realization of what I've become finally hits me. I want a cucumber facial and a long soak in a hot bath scented with peach oil. I want to be me again.
And that's when the phone rings.
"Hello?" Oh boy. I sound as bad as I look and I'm seriously pitying whoever it is that has called.
"Rico? It's Chuck."
I have to smile. How I've missed him. "Hello, baby boy. How are you? Are you and Billy winning your matches without me?"
"Oh, we're doing okay. Listen, Rico…"
But I interrupt him. Suddenly hearing his deep soothing voice, I want to know. I want to know everything. "Did you exfoliate today and Saturday? Are you using the right cleanser?"
"Uh, yeah," Chuck replies slowly. "I got the dry skin, right?"
And that just about gives me a heart attack. "Chucky, no! You have combination skin! You know you have to be careful about your problem zones. Please, please, tell me you're not using the dry skin cleanser."
There's a pause that seems to take forever, before I suddenly hear laughter. "Got ya! Of course I'm using the right one, I just wanted to make you wet yourself."
"You little bitch!" I scowl.
"Haha," Chuck laughs. "And easy on the 'little'. We both know that's not true. So how are you doing, anyway? I bet Donatella's happy her daddy's home."
I smile down at the puppy, who can obviously tell she's the topic of conversation, because she gets up from her basket, trots over to me and begins pawing my lap.
"Yes she is, aren't you, baby?" I comment, scratching her behind the ears. "But as for me?" I sigh. "Just be happy you can't see me now, Chuck. You'd lose all respect for me."
"A fine looking man like you?" Chuck asks incredulously. "Never!"
"Thanks, Chuck. But, once I get myself cleaned up, I'll return tomorrow and I'll know whether you've been telling the truth about that cleanser. You do know you're supposed to use it morning and night? And follow it with a toner and moisturizer?"
"Yes, Rico," Chuck replies mockingly. "But boy am I glad you're coming back."
"You are? Oh, that's sweet. I miss you too."
"Yeah, yeah," Chuck mumbles. "I kinda need your support."
"You do? Chuck, what's happened? Are you and Billy okay?"
"Yeah, we're okay. We're fine. You know Bill…but actually, that's what I need to talk to you about. I um…oh, man…I've decided I wanna…" He pauses and I can hear him taking a deep breath. "I want Billy Gunn to be mine forever…there, I said it. So, whaddaya think?"
What do I think? I scream in delight and when I speak, I'm simply unable to contain my excitement.
"Oh, Chucky! That's fantastic! I can't believe my boys are getting married! Argh!"
"Hey, I haven't asked him yet," Chuck reminds me. "I mean, what if he says no?"
"He won't," I promise. "He loves you, Chuck. You know he loves you. And who wouldn't? You're positively beautiful. Oh, this is fantastic! What do you want me to do? Should I book a restaurant? Find you a tux? How do you want to do this? This is your night, Chuck, yours and Billy's and it has to be just perfect."
"Yeah, I know, I…I know," Chuck stutters. "I wanna do it in the ring."
"In the ring? Oh Chuck, what a marvelous idea. Do you have a ring for Billy?"
"Yeah, yeah, I got it. It's real nice. I…look, Rico, I've never done this before and…well, could you help me? I want to do it right."
"Chucky," I breathe. "I would be honored. Tomorrow night on Smackdown, we will do this, you and me, and Billy will be so happy! Oh, I'm so excited. Argh, I'm gonna plan a wedding! Of course Billy's going to say yes. Chuck, I'm so glad you asked me."
"Yeah, me too," Chuck replies. "So, I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Absolutely. Oh, wow. I'm so glad you're including me."
Chuck laughs. "Bye Rico."
"Bye!"
I set the phone down and scoop Donatella into the air. "Did you hear that, baby girl? Daddy's boys are getting married! I'm going to plan a wedding!"
* * * *
Everything has gone off without a hitch and now my boys are getting hitched. Billy said yes, as I'd known he would and now we're heading back to the locker room. They're all over each other, of course, but the funny thing is that no one seems to mind. I guess it's true after all. Everyone does love a wedding.
As for me, I'm happy to say that I'm almost back to my old self. My sideburns have all but grown in and, thanks to a rigorous deep cleansing and exfoliating session, I have no blemishes to tell the tale of my week of bad food. The stitches have already begun to dissolve, and even my black eye has all but healed, although it has required careful application of concealer and foundation to get me through tonight.
I walk behind my boys, smiling dotingly as they talk to each other in low voices and occasionally exchange sweet little kisses. Requited love is so beautiful. I long for the time to come when it happens to me.
"Rico! Billy! Chuck!"
"Boys, wait," I call, grabbing for Billy's arm so they'll stop.
Just when I thought this night couldn't possibly get any better, here is Torrie Wilson, looking simply divine in a white lacy top and tight jeans - Sevens? They must be. She's obviously forgiven me for my outburst in the hospital ward and, to top it off, she's alone.
"I just had to say congratulations!" she gushes, beaming at all three of us and hypnotizing me again with those adorable dimples. "I just love weddings and I think you guys are so cool for doing this, for expressing your love this way. I can't wait until I get married."
My heart jumps into my throat. "You…you're getting married?" I gasp out, choking on my words.
"Yes, of course. Some day," she smiles at me. "I have to find a guy first."
"You…" I swallow, simply unable to believe what I've just heard. "You mean you and Kidman aren't…?"
"Oh no," she replies, still smiling. "I mean, we used to date, a while ago, but now we're just friends." She thinks for a moment, her face scrunching slightly into a pretty little frown. Forget what I said about frowns earlier, on her they are as perfect as any other expression. "You know, like Jerry and Elaine on 'Seinfeld'."
"Really."
So here it is, here's my chance. Don't blow it, Rico, please don't blow it.
"Well, like I said, congratulations," she calls again. "See you later. Oh, and Rico. I'm glad you're better. Bye!"
"Torrie, wait."
This is it. I've called her back. She's stopped. She's staring at me expectantly. My time has come.
"I have a busy week ahead of me, planning this wedding," I hear myself say. "And I already have some good ideas. But what I think I really need is a woman's touch and I honestly can't think of anyone more perfectly stylish than you." I pause, giving her time to think, even to rebuke me, before I go on. "Would you like to come shopping with me?"
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A/N: I know I say this every time, but it's really starting to flow for me now. Thanks so much for your reviews, they really keep me going and let me know that I'm doing this thing right. *hugz* and I'll see you next time.