Eleven years ago…
Rain pours down the window pane creating a drum-like beat making reaching full concentration difficult as I try to complete my homework as well as help Caro with hers. Stupid girl thinks her simple subtraction and addition is hard as opposed to my double digit multiplication and division. We'd ask Fannie, since she's a brainiac, but she's busy waiting for Pops to ascend down the stairs.
We hear the creaky steps and Fannie assaults Pops with her interrogation of Estella's, our mother's, whereabouts, "I don't know…" sighs my father bleakly.
"Wha…what? What do you mean 'I don't know'?" she asks raising her voice up a notch, "My fifteenth birthday is in less than forty-eight hours and I haven't seen her since Sunday! Todo lo que pedi fue that we would be all reunited for a family dinner in the city!" she shouts furiously, "I am not having a quinceanera, Pa, so where is she?"
"Madresita, I don't know," my father tiredly sits down on our beat-up couch to catch his breath. He works a fourteen hour day, "She's…she's probably at work. You know how sometimes her boss keeps her."
Fannie rolls her eyes, "She's probably fucking her husband…" she mutters. Estella is a maid here and there, supposedly, and more often than not, she stays at the boss's house.
"Que dijiste?" exclaims my dad.
"That, esa mujer doesn't know the definition of a job! She's a drunk and a druggie! Don't tell me you believe her lies, Pa…te anda poniendo el cuerno somewhere just to get her fix!" she bellows.
I scramble to pack up my schoolwork and begin to usher Caro out of the room. It's going to get ugly and worse. This is a recurrent event in my house and I rather not have Caro witness it but too late. Dad has jumped off the couch and slapped the soul out of Fannie.
Her pretty hazelnut colored hair swings to the side covering up her enraged eyes as Dad barks at her, "Never and I mean never talk about your mother like that! You hear, pinche malcriada? Never," he begins to take off his fine leather belt and horrified tears roll down Caro's cheeks, "Ya me tienes bien pinche arto de tus pend-"
"You're gonna hit me?" clamors my older sister, "I am not a fucking child anymore, Pa! I trying to open your damn eyes but you know what? Fuck you." she stomps out into the pouring rain, making sure to slam the door.
My dad stands looking out the raindrop stained window, watching her run away into the unknown. I think we might need to get new windows because drops have made it inside. They run down my father's face, like tears or something. He wipes them off and turns to us. His youngest children huddled in fear and smiles sadly, beckoning to us.
Caro fretfully does before I do. We embrace our aged father as he sits down and hugs us back, "Mis chiquitas…" he mumbles, "Saben que Papa las quiere, verdad?"
"We love you too, Pa," whispers Caro, she's always been a Daddy's little girl.
He hugs us even tigher, "Thank you. Listen to me, alright. Listen closely," he clears his throat, "I know Mama hasn't been the best but she tries. Your sister, she just doesn't appreciate that she's busy," he pulls us away, "When you two are grown, beautiful women, I want you guys to be smart…study to be doctors, teachers, or something because Papa would be so proud. What would break my heart would be to hear that you've been bad or done drugs," his voice chips, "That will make me feel like I wasn't a good dad to you guys."
Caro immediately hugs him, "Don't worry, Daddy."
I hold back. It's a hidden message: don't be like your mother. My baby sister doesn't comprehend that but maybe when we're older…she will. And as much as Pops loves that woman he calls a wife, he knows it better than anyone else but refuses to see.
ΔΔΔΔ
"Sorry, Pops…" I whisper to the spine-wrecking wind.
Somewhere around midnight, I lost track of time. That tends to happen most nights I'm on road duty. The bitter cold prevents me from floating away from thoughts of warmth. Quite frankly, I have come to believe that the blunt that is my hand isn't doing me any good either but I can't will myself to throw it away. It's my sanity.
"I see a caddie coming down the block, girl," informs me my patrol partner, Sasha.
Sure enough, there a vehicle coming to slow stop. It's a sleek, polished caddy with chrome twenty-fours clean enough see my reflection. Sasha tousles her hair and struts over to the passenger's side and knocks on the window. As its dark, I can see the driver but barely make out any of his features. All I know is she's chatting up a faceless man who keeps pointing at me.
"Marleene," she motions for me to go over and I do, dropping my blunt in the snow, "He's lonely tonight, good luck," she whispers and walks off.
Gulping, as per usual, I muster up my best seductive voice, "Evening, honey. Mind if I join you for a spin?"
His features are still darkened all I can see is his nose and down. From the wrinkles I can tell he's an older gentleman, "Not at all, gorgeous," he replies. His voice is gravelly.
I open the door and look back at Sasha who nods; I get in and close the door. We're off. As we round the corner, I get the balls to look his way. I'll be damned, he looks familiar. Very fucking familiar but the name eludes me.
"We're in for a long ride so get comfortable, gorgeous," his says. His tone gives me the creeps…but every single one does as well.
Sinking back into the heated seat, I allow it to lull me to sleep - in and out of sleep, due to the affects of the drug in my brain. Prayers for God to keep me under his wing of safety enter my brain every time I realize how far we are from the block I was picked up at.
Finally, the vehicle comes to a half and I jerk out of my slumber. Sudden anxiety fills my entire being making my palms sweat. The need to know his plans increases. My stomach tosses and turns every which way as he steps out of the vehicle and comes around to open my door.
"I promise, I don't bite, sweetheart," he reassures with a grin that could rival the Big Bad Wolf's and nothing about the sly glint in his eye gives me a sense of security but I take his hand and step out.
We're in the grand city of Chicago just near Lake Michigan. Girl, you're far from Lockport now… For as long as I have existed, I've never visited any of Chicago's touristy, rich side much less the "Magnificent Mile". This is my first glimpse and I know I already don't belong. Not with my Discovery bought mini-dress or non-designer heels. The bright lights rat me out and every snooty passerby eyes me with despise knowing my kind.
"Come on, dollface, you're going to catch something," says the old geezer as he yanks me into him, "Take care of my baby, son," he says to the young valet that looks as though he's ready to bow at his feet.
Every inch of this section is gloriously filled with people, restaurants, bars, and shops…even the Hancock Tower. We round the corner and I gape. We enter heaven. Literally, all the walls are while and the tiles floors are polished white. It's the award winning Waldorf Astoria. The ancient looking statues appear to be made of gold and the man behind the desk greets us with shiny bright teeth.
"Welcome back, Mr. McMahon and Miss…"
McMahon? I nearly fall through all the perfection of this hotel. I manage to spill out, "Marleene," without passing out.
"and Miss Marleene," he repeats in that forged smile he's required to give.
McMahon pulls the fella aside and exchanges a Benjamin and I know it's surely not for the set of keys he's given. Either way, I find myself being escorted into a mirrored elevator. It's spacious but I feel a wave of claustrophobia. It's a long nineteen floors up and I can feel Vincent's burning gaze. He eyes me like a slice of overpriced meat.
The elevator dings announcing that we've arrived at the penthouse. Distress overcomes me, envelops me. I can't even move my knees have buckled. This man is legendary and by the looks of it, is about to tear me apart. Old as he is. My queasy stomach threatens to send what little it procures up my esophagus. The doors open and I am back in heaven, maybe beyond.
My company envelops me at the waist and leads me through the entirety of the penthouse; I might say I've experienced a visual orgasm of some kind. He kicks a set of double doors to unveil the majestic bedroom. It could be suit of its own.
Figuratively, I've died so many times tonight, I cannot bear to count. This is above and beyond anything my eyes have ever laid their sight upon. The power of currency in this life is superior to anything else. One entire side of the room is filled by windows with curtains made of embroidered peach fabric. The bed itself takes up a third of the room – it's colossal. Talk about pillows for days. I launch myself onto it mindlessly and it beats out cloud nine. Silk feels sweet under my skin, therapeutics almost. An antique vanity stands off near chests and drawers as well as an imported changing screen.
Lifting my head, I notice that Vinny Mac has taken the liberty of bringing wine while I was taking the room in, "Boy, are you sinfully beautiful…" he muses out loud. He fills us both of the glasses with the wine in his grasp. The bottle is coated in a layer of metallic gold foil with a spade with an A and I recognize it as Ace of Spades. Wow…
He holds out the glass to me and I crawl to it, salivating at the thought of drinking such a pricey drink, "Thank you."
"Here's to a pleasurable night," he raises his glass as do I.
Savoring the taste, I flash the man I grew to love throughout the year for giving me the world of wrestling on my television. This man made many of my days awesome. He hired many of the men I grew crushes on and the women I aspired to be and idolized. His power strut gave me giggles and his phrase "You're fired!" was my first impression. After tonight, none of that would ever be the same.
Clearing my mind to absolutely nothing, I gulp down the rest of my drink to gain a tad of liquor-infuse courage and kiss this geezer, ever so sensually pulling off articles of clothing and throwing him down on his above-the-clouds bed. Hoping that nobody interrupts for the sake of not gaining fifteen minutes of stardom by rolling in the hay with a multi-millionaire, a married one.
ΔΔΔΔ
Feels like a millennium since I've lost myself to my innermost thoughts. I just lie atop the clouds, butt-naked next to an equally naked semi-stranger. His systematic breathing blows against the back of my neck sending uncomfortable shivers up and down my spine. The sun's rays break through the window making me squint. What I've done condemns me. I am a slut and the fact makes me cry, softly though. Shameful as it is, stooping this low is what has been paying off the bills that so badly needed to be paid. Sure, I still occupy my time at the parlor but that isn't enough…never will be. Nobody was calling back so busting down was the closest thing possible – profitable even. One would be surprised how many thirsty men there are in the world.
Rolling my head to the side, I see that the geezer is very much out cold. I slide out of bed and hurry to the bathroom, gathering my discarded clothing in the mix. Even the bathroom is award-worthy. Once I get over my shock, I grab a towel and soak it under the stainless steel faucet and start scrubbing at my skin furiously to try and get rid of this feeling of nastiness. My usually tan skin is reddened by the force. Feels like an OCD that consumes me; a tick that won't budge. I fall to my knees sobbing. This wasn't the way I had imagined my life would be, not at all.
My bra, panties, and stockings come on. I crawl out of the bathroom, doing nothing but bad to my knees, to get my shoes and dress but the phone blares making me tense up. Panicking, seeing as Vince is bound to wake sooner rather than later, I stand up and make a show of stretching out my somewhat sore limbs.
Vince puts the phone to his ear whilst eyeing my every move. I strut over to his side and straddle him. Kissing his neck and whispering into his unoccupied ear, "Paul, son, what can I help you with?" Paul as in Triple H? I go cold as a corpse only to be brought back to life by Vince's erection, which surprises me since he's past his prime, "Oh no, we're fine…Yeah, Linda spontaneously made us land in Chicago…she wanted to visit her sick cousin…" he motions for me to keep quiet, "No,no we're due back soon…Alright, take care. Tell Steph I said 'Hi'," with that he hangs up and turns his affections to me. No point in having scrubbed…
"You enjoy yourself, Vinny," I coo.
"Like a kid in the candyshop, dollface. Get up and turn for me though," questioningly, I do as he demands. Enjoy while you can!
"You like what you see, sugar?" I try my best to strap down the vile.
"Like? Love!" he gets off the bed and I catch a shot of his shriveled dick and get disgusted goosebumps. He comes up behind me, grinding against, "Lose some and I could make you a star. Make you the biggest thing that ever hit my business, dollface."
His wrinkly fingers snake into my panties and begin to stimulate me, I fake moan and giggle slyly, "I bet you could…" another moan, "I must be going, Vince."
Frowning a fraction, he slides over to his pants and gets his wallet out. He pulls out half a grand, I almost floor, "Here, you were amazing…made an oldman feel new… I'll put in another $200 to keep this between us…" he winks and did as he said. He pulls out a business card and slips it into my bra, "Should you need anything or take up my offer, call and ask for me; tell them you're a friend or something… Marleene." He kisses me and walks into the bathroom, "Hopefully, we'll meet again…gorgeous. Oh just ask a receptionist to call one of my men to drive you to your destination." With that he disappears into the bathroom completely, leaving me like another disposed conquest.
On my way down, I spy the same receptionist that held us up yesterday. Woo! Walk of Shame! I shame my way past him, not missing the sour look on his face, and hail a cab.
Even on the ride there, I can't believe the luck and misfortune of having met Vince McMahon. The same man who'd inducted plenty of Superstars into his Kiss-My-Ass-Club, the man who feuded time and time again with my idol, Stone Cold Steve Austin. It'd be hell of a story to tell but then again, nobody will ever know of it – not even the people who know of my "job". Who'd want to imagine me being touched by a wrinkly perve? Who'd want to know of the thought that got me "ready" for the man was that of Phil Brooks? Nobody, that's who and I don't even wish to remember. It'd further shame me for anybody else to know of my true nature.
The locals know though, girly! That strikes me. I've done a handful of the area's men…and women. I wonder if Micks knew and what she'd say if she did. What would I tell her?
"We've arrived, ma'am," announces the driver. As I start pulling out a wad of cash from one of the pockets in my dress, he stops me, "I was sent by a Mr. McMahon. No need."
I blush and mutter a "thanks" before heading out into the frigid cold. I watch the cab speed off into the distance and start trudging my way home, half a block away. Cursing the snow and my creator the entire way through.
In plain sight, I start running the rest of the way home. I feel under the porch for the spare key and open the door. Still the cold envelops me but at least it's the one inside my own home. Leaning over to take off my shoes, I see a figure in the TV's reflection and utter a "fuck". Standing up, I peek to see it's Micks holding a mug to her lips as if waiting for something or somebody…or me.
"There you are…" she says icily.
I laugh nervously, "Here I am…"
"Where have you been, Marleene?" and you're caught up!
A/N- DUN DUN DUNNNN! I don't know if I was smart including ol' Vinny Mac but I thought it'd be a good turn. Thank you for the read!