Disclaimer:  I do not own the characters of Stephanie McMahon and Dawn Marie.  They are the property of the actresses and the WWE.  I am but your humble servant Vince, don't send the dogs after me.

Facade

CHAPTER ONE

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, gearing myself up for another show.  Fierce blue eyes stared back at me, my upper lip twisted into a snarl, a look that my ex-husband lovingly referred to as my "game face".  

* I am Stephanie McMahon.  I am the general manager of SmackDown! and a valuable asset to my father's company, even if he fails to realize that fact.  My show will eclipse Bischoff's in the ratings and I will remain the dominant female in the WWE.* my familiar mantra filled my head as I built up my confidence.

My left arm throbbed painfully, breaking my thoughts.  Reaching up with my right hand, I gently rolled down the damp pressure cuff, whimpering as the blood rushed through the unused limb.  Since I had the lymph nodes removed in my left armpit, I was forced to wear that bloody cuff every time I boarded an airplane.  I used to wish for a job with less commuting; now I just wished for a healthier body. 

Thinking about that last surgery, my eyes wandered to my left breast.  Automatically, I went to trace the scar above my nipple, just visible above the white hotel towel I am wearing.  *I am in remission.  The cancer is gone. * I reminded myself as old fears, memories of the day I found the lump flooded my brain.  I shivered, and then pushed the weakness away.  There was a time and a place for self pity, and now was not that time.

Dropping my towel, I went about dressing for the show, pulling out clothes that I like to call "sexy-professional hybrid."  Even with my full coverage bra, I struggled to fasten the middle buttons on my blue dress shirt, my breasts causing the fabric to strain.  With a sigh, I pulled up my gray miniskirt, slipped into my heels and stood in front of the mirror again to apply some makeup. 

Satisfied, I step back from the mirror, running a hand through my hair.  I notice that the messy strands are nearly chin length, and I wonder how much longer it will be until it is fully grown in.  Pinning what little hair I had back, I reach for the wig on the vanity and tape it into place.  Numerous scuffles with Sable over the past few weeks made me truly appreciate wig tape; it held even when I was dragged by the hair during our matches. 

A knock on the door startled me.  Rushing to the door, I peered through the peep-hole and see my only friend on the other side.  Breathing a sigh of relief, I opened the door quickly.  "You scared me half to death!  All my stuff is still out!"  I gesture to my wig stand and tape, clearly visible on the vanity. 

Walking in, Dawn Marie gave me a quick hug, then went to sit on the bed.  "Sorry Steph, I came to tell you that our limo is here to take us to the show." 

Worriedly, I turned back to the mirror.  "Do I look alright?  Can you see anything?" 

A line creased her brow as she stood back up and moved before me.  Her deep brown eyes examined my hairline, and a hand crept up to smooth a few stray bangs back into place.  I watched her face intently, looking for any signs of disapproval.  She was the only Diva I trusted, the only person in the WWE that knew about the cancer and the only one that I could ever stand before, completely vulnerable.  Her brow smoothed out and a grin pulled at her lips.  "You look perfect as always.  All I can see is Stephanie McMahon, GM and all around badass."

I laughed at her remarks, feeling my confidence rise again.  "Why thank you, Ms. Wilson."  Her nose wrinkled at the name, and I couldn't help but laugh some more.  "Come on, we better get going.  I have a ton of paperwork to do before I announce tonight's matches."

"Yes, Ms. McMahon," she grumbled good naturedly, walking towards the door.  Checking the mirror one more time, I found myself to look perfect, just like she said.  *It is a necessary evil,* I think to myself as I followed Dawn out of my hotel room and down the hall, *the implants, the wigs, they maintain my image of power.*   

Little did anyone know that the image was the only thing keeping me from crumbling inside. 

END CHAPTER ONE