"This is the last straw," she muttered to herself, gathering up her purse and preparing to leave the table. If she wasn't so utterly furious at Matt, she'd feel sorry for him for the abuse he was going to take soon enough. The two had been going out for what felt like forever, but these days it seemed as though their relationship was simply disappearing down the drain, and Matt was too busy partying with the boys after Smackdown! to spend any time with his girlfriend. The same girlfriend who'd taken time out of her rehab to faithfully--and, Lita now realized, stupidly--travel on the road with him. Well, to hell with the bastard! she swore silently to herself, shouldering on her coat and angrily running a hand through her flaming hair. Let him get stood up for a change! Her angry thoughts were cut off when she recognized a familiar dark-haired figure hastily stumble into the restaurant, looking somewhat dazed and out of place. Lita's upper lip twisted up in a grim smile as Matt recognized her--or rather, her trademark red hair--and made a beeline across the room toward her. Plastering a phony smile on her face so as to not scare him away, she crossed her arms and prepared for World War III.
Ugh, so this is what seafood restaurants try to pass off as seared ahi tuna, Rob Van Dam thought to himself as he glared down distastefully at his plate. Seated across from him, a pretty blonde in a stylish red minidress was chattering a mile a minute, a smile on her face fit for a toothpaste commercial as she talked excitedly, barely touching her shrimp salad. Just smile and nod, RVD instructed himself, following his own orders and pretending to be fascinated by whatever the hell his date was squealing over. Good grief has she got the whole Pamela Anderson thing going for her, right down to the peroxide and bleach formula! he winced, smiling and nodding along to her words while his restless eyes scanned the restaurant. Hey, I recognize that chick over there, he muttered silently to himself, catching sight of a tall redhead dressed to kill in a black dress and gladiator-style stilettos. He narrowed his eyes, struggling to remember who she was. Hmm...I know we work together, although she just mysteriously disappeared a few months back. Can't seem to remember her name, though...His attention was shifted to something more important, as he glanced away from the redhead whom he worked with and whose name he couldn't remember if his life depended on it, and began instead to examine his reflection on the silverware. Oh, great, my hair's out of place, he inwardly complained, reaching up and patting down his tousled chestnut mane while his date kept on yakking. Smile and nod, smile and nod, he repeated silently to himself, pretending to be interested by whatever she was saying as he continued to scrutinize his appearance using his butter knife.
Matt Hardy moved swiftly
over to Lita, briefly kissing her cheek in greeting and then taking his
seat at their table, opening up a menu as though nothing had happened.
Lita's left eyebrow was twitching dangerously by then, as Matt examined
the choices, murmuring absently, "Hey, Li, can you recommend anything?"
Lita glared, before seething through clenched teeth, "Yes--their ice water
is very refreshing!" before taking her full glass and dumping its entire
contents, ice and all, into Matt's face. Her soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend leapt
up, shock registering on his features as he clawed at his drenched black
hair and sputtered indignantly, "What the hell was that for?!" He quickly
realized that questioning her action was the wrong thing to do, as Lita
glared murderous daggers at him, before snapping, "That was for
making me wait one and a half hours for you after Smackdown!" Matt
still looked confused, and Lita scowled.
"Ugh, don't tell me that
those strippers' low IQs rubbed off on you, Mr. I Scored 1330 On My SATs!"
she growled sarcastically, and Matt's eyebrows flew up.
"Is that what this is all
about?" he stammered. "You thought I was at a strip club?"
"Oh, gee, I don't know,"
Lita said in that maddening tone of hers. "Maybe it's about the fact that
I have been sitting here like a fool for nearly two hours, while you were
out with your buddies getting lap dances from scantily-clad bimbos at some
tacky bar with garish neon lights and drunken losers screeching "Girls
Girls Girls" by the karaoke machine!" Matt leaned back, as though her arsenal
of scathing words had acted as a physical barrage against him. He opened
and closed his mouth, but no words could come out, and he wound up looking
as though he'd meant to do a fish out of water imitation. At his reaction,
Lita let out a groan of disgust, snapping, "The least you could do was
make a pathetic attempt at denying this!" Matt finally seemed to snap out
of his daze, as a stream of words flew out of his mouth.
"But I didn't go to a strip
club with the guys or whatever it is that you're thinking!" he defended
himself. "I mean, I'm really sorry I showed up late and all, honest, I
had no idea, you tend to lose track of time when you're at the arena, and..."
Lita held up her hands to stop him before he could talk himself blue and
collapse unconscious from lack of oxygen.
"Listen, Matt, just save
it, all right?" she muttered, in a slightly less angry tone. "I'm too tired
of all this to argue with you; just go do whatever the hell you want, but
don't lead me into believing that you're going to set some time aside for
us. Let's just forget about this and move on with our lives." Matt's eyes
widened, as he got what his girlfriend--his former girlfriend--was getting
at.
"You mean, we should take
a break from each other?" he ventured quietly, but one glance into Lita's
eyes told him that it was already too late for even that.
"No, Matt," she murmured.
"Look, I don't want to end this on a bitter term--so let's just calmly
break up, and try to at least stay on speaking terms, all right?" Matt
didn't bother to respond, and after a few seconds, Lita cleared her throat
and began to walk away from their table.
"So, I was, like, 'No, way!'
and she was like, 'Totally!' and I couldn't believe it, because I could
have sworn that they hated each others' guts, and honestly, what does she
see in him, anyway? I mean, he's, like, a hundred years old, and wrinkled
as a prune, and, like, totally icksome, you know--" RVD winced as his date
happily chattered on, deciding that if he didn't take a break from her
voice, his head would pop. Forcing another smile on his face, he spoke
up, "Listen, Torrie, I have to go and make a phone call, all right? Be
back in a sec." He started to rise and get out of his chair, but froze
when he noticed that his blonde date had suddenly fallen deathly silent
to lean back in her chair, cross her arms over her chest, and work her
features into a murderous scowl. Feeling somewhat uneasy, RVD paused in
mid-movement to prod, "Something wrong, Torrie?" She glared up at him,
snapping in a clipped tone, "Yes, something's wrong, Robby!" RVD
frowned, he hated it when people called him that; however, he could see
that now wasn't the time to sulk over being called by his Nana's nickname
for him.
"Yes, well, I know how badly
bleach can damage your hair and all, that's why you should use a special
kind of papaya extract on it like I do with mine, Torrie," he started to
advise, when he suddenly realized the problem. "But you're not Torrie,
are you?" His date shook her head.
"No, I'm not," she seethed.
RVD smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand, as he said casually,
"Of course not! Sorry, Trish, I'm terrible with names, and you know how
I tend to confuse names that are similar..." His date's eyebrows flew up
in outrage, and RVD realized then that she probably wasn't Trish either.
"Oh, I see, so you're not
Trish. Okay, I know you're not Debra, because I would never go out
with a married woman, so...Who the hell are you, then?" he made the mistake
of saying, as his furious date looked like she wanted to pull a Stephanie
and bitch slap him right back to his hotel room and his precious papaya
extract. Thankfully, however, she changed her mind before actually carrying
out her slap, and instead opted to pout sulkily, "Stacy, remember?! I'm
Stacy!" RVD responded with a confused look.
"Right, Stacy...Listen,
I don't mean to be rude or anything, but didn't you get fired way back
for adopting what I believe is called "Sable Attitude?" he wanted to know,
as Stacy's mouth dropped open in outrage.
"Stacy Keibler, not
Stacey Carter!" she hissed furiously, and RVD gave a nervous, guilty chuckle
when he realized his mistake.
"Of course, of course, you're
the Testicle chick, now I remember!" he said, more to himself than to Stacy,
who scowled and crossed her legs.
"I've heard of people who're
bad with names, but this is ridiculous," she grumbled. "I'm surprised you
can even remember your own name--Can you remember your own name?"
RVD shot her a What-Are-You-Kidding? look, as he chanted cheerfully,
complete with thumb pointing and all, "Of course I remember my own name,
Lilian, I mean, Kat, I mean, Stace. I'm Rob...Van...Dam!" As Stacy rolled
her eyes heavenward, RVD drew himself to his full height and squirmed out
of the table, chirping brightly, "Now if you'll excuse me, um, Stacy, I
have to go and make that phone call!" And he cheerfully sailed away before
Stacy could utter a single word of protest.
Lita trudged dejectedly through
the restaurant, heading for the glass doors and convincing herself that
she'd done the right thing by breaking up with Matt. It wouldn't have
worked out in the end, and you know it, she tried to convince herself.
But still, she'd been with Matt Hardy for so man years--she'd honestly
thought they might get married one day. Lita broke into a bitter smile.
It just goes to show that serious, long-term relationships are never
what they're cracked up to be, she thought to herself. She would have
continued her train of thought, had she not smacked full force into someone
then. Normally, Lita would have offered a polite apology, but after just
ending a long-term relationship, she'd convinced herself she had every
right to be as nasty and sarcastic as she wanted.
"Ugh, watch where the hell
you're going, clumsy," she growled under her breath, as she pushed past
him and continued walking. The man she'd bumped into shot her a wide-eyed
stare, before muttering, "Hn, guess what they say about redheads is true,
then." Lita turned around to glare at him, but before she could say anything,
his eyes had lit up in recognition, and he'd greeted cheerfully, "Hey,
I work with you, huh?" Lita recognized him as being the self-proclaimed
Mr. Monday Night himself, Rob Van Dam, and offered a weak smile.
"Yeah. Sorry for what I
said, Rob," she muttered, and prepared to head outside and hail a taxi.
"Yeah, no problem." RVD
then made the mistake of adding, "By the way, Victoria, since when did
you dye your hair red?" Lita whirled around in surprise, too shocked to
really offer any furious words.
"I'm not Victoria," she
finally said slowly, as a look of anguish came over RVD's face.
"Oh, great--Stacy, don't
tell me you went into the bathroom to dye your hair just now!" he complained.
Lita shook her head in disbelief; she didn't know whether he was only kidding
or whether he was actually serious, although had she been in a better mood,
she would have surely been amused by his antics.
"I'm Lita," was all she
said, as a lightbulb seemed to go off in RVD's brain.
"That's right! That's what
your name is," he crowed, as Lita rolled her eyes. I really don't have
time for his crap, she thought to herself. Out loud, she muttered,
"Listen, I've got to get going," before pushing past him and storming the
hell out of the place. RVD shrugged, then forgot all about Lita when he
heard Stacy complaining to the waiter that a cherry tomato in her shrimp
salad had gone bad, and remembered the purpose of his initial excuse of
getting away from Stacy and her voice.
"Well then--I'm off to make
that phone call of mine," he muttered to himself, and began trying to remember
Kurt Angle's hotel room number so that he could send twenty pizzas over.