Breathing profoundly, I strut my way through tables to the VIP section near the stage. This time, I calculate each stride. I can't afford another mishap but the closer I get, the more I feel my legs wobble. The TV doesn't do them any justice. Not only in looks but size as well! They seem so out of place, the two giants modestly covered in the standard Evolution garb.
The youngest of the two, Randy, murmurs something to Batista – Dave – and they subsequently bobble their heads in my direction. My heart pounds away so violently, it might crack through my ribcage but I don't deter, instead I paste on a coy grin.
"It's a chilly night out here in the Chi, isn't it?" I comment, better to start small talk them faint from anxiety. I lean over the table to set the tray of Four Horsemen in front of them, "Compliments of Las Palmas, Four Horsemen for tonight's special guests. I'll be at your undisputed service. My name's Marleene but you, you can call me whatever pleases you," I add the batting lashes for extra effect.
Randy pounces first, "Oh really?" his predatory smirk never faltering, "In that case, doll face, it'll surely be a pleasure," think of something repulsive, repulsive…think!, "I'm Randy and this is my buddy, Dave."
"Yes, it's a pleasure to meet you, sweetheart," Dave replies, taking a glass of the tray.
"Pleasure's all mine, really. I'm a big fan," I dish out and mentally kick myself for it.
The duo chuckles but ultimately, Dave replies, "That line gets tossed around every so-called celebrity rolls through this joint, doesn't it?"
I tap my chin for a minute or two, trying to come up with something witty, "Considering that I've never met a celebrity, I'll have to get back to you on that," I grin cheekily which humors them, "Can I fetch you gentlemen anything?" I don't even know if this shit has a menu, fuck!
The muscle builder springs on asking for the strongest concoction this place offers stating that he's all nerves. I wonder why but then again it wouldn't be appropriate to ask. I turn to Randy, "You happen to be on the menu, doll face?" yeah, he's cocky alright.
"No, sorry," I reply but he could make it so I am…he has the money to.
"Aw, man! I'll just start off with a scotch, tell the bartenders to mix it however they like – I like surprises."
ΔΔΔΔ
"Bottoms up, boys!" I announce, setting down the tray of liquor.
The WWE Superstars attack it like they haven't had so much as a drip of water in years. Dave takes a swig of his drink and then scrunches up his face. He blinks a couple of times while the concoction stimulates his brain and courses through his bloodstream, "That is definitely some strong shit."
I reach out to rub his massive bicep, the muscles constricting under my fingertips, "Like you ordered," pulling my hand away, I fix my dress, "Anything else?"
Both of them shake their heads, "Can I buy you a drink though?" inquires Randy.
The idea sounds rather lovely, after such commotion but if I'm true to myself, one drink would lead on to another seven. Getting hammered on the job, even though it's technically "family owned", just seems ungrateful. Especially getting hammered in front of men of such power, "Love to but can't, handsome. Sorry," I smile meekly and set out to return to rant to Wes but a large, foreign hand pulls me back, "Yes?"
"Stay with us. Stay and we can just chat," Randy's grin suggests otherwise. Scratching my head, surveying the area for anybody to take my place, I slide in with Randy and mention that they're lucky that I'm being paid to entertain the likes of them, all in good nature of course. It isn't a chore to entertain the men I fawn over on Mondays and Fridays.
"So, what's a lovely thing like you doing here? It's graveyard, you're going to get puffy eyes, sweetheart," says David.
Shrugging, "Raking in extra cash however I can."
"Can I ask what for?"
I nod, "My nephew asked Santa to bring his old man home this Christmas. Keep in mind, the military doesn't give a flying fuck about what families want, which is acceptable…I guess. Any who, I'm low in the finance area so…I am here for my little angel," the men nod in acknowledgement, "Santa might not bring Daddy home but a new game would suffice, I guess."
"That's tough shit. I mean, I was in the military for a period and then AWOL-ed. Shit ain't as cool as Hollywood makes it out to be," Dave and I nod, "With a kid…I don't think I'd have the balls to deploy,"
"I don't think you'd be able to leave women," ribs Batista and we both laugh at Randy's expense.
Hoping to float away from the seriousness and personal-ness of my situation, I ask them, "So, what are ya'll doing out here? One would think that you'd be jetting off to someplace where tanning lotion is abundant, palm trees aren't potted, and itty-bitty string bikinis are day wear."
The men smile, "Believe me, honey, I'd be catching the next plane off to Rio or something if not for the two girls waiting for me here," of course, "They been begging and whining since December of last year for Daddy to come home. So, here I am," Batista digs into his pocket, pulls out his wallet, and pulls out a photo, "Keilani and Athena, I think they gave me a better reason to ditch Angs, to be honest."
I eyeball the picture and my eyeball almost pops out. These girls are well…girls. Beautiful and well…girls. If I'd been an officer, no doubt I'd be obligated to cuff this guy. The girls barely look a day over sixteen. Unless, those girls have been blessed with anti-aging genetics or makeup artists have improved their techniques. An odd shiver rolls through me as I hand the photograph back, "They're, um, young…" I know, smooth as fuck.
One of Sir Batista's perfectly shaped eyebrows lifts, "I don't look that old, do I?"
"You actually do," responds Randy jokingly and he receives the finger.
"Well, yeah, I'm here visiting my little ones. Their mom welcomed me in which means she either wants more money or re-negotiate our prenup,"
My mouth hangs wide open allowing my tongue to roll out like the fucking red carpet, "They…they're your…daughters?"
The duo have themselves a laugh before settling down, "I try to keep my personal life low key, I'd appreciate it if you would refrain from feeding the discovery to those no-lives that run those dirt sheet sites."
Shaking my head so much that it might just break off, I muse, "But it's so weird to think of you as a sex symbol when you got girls that call you 'Daddy'. Would that make it a DILF?"
"Well I am flattered," shutting my mouth, I feel my upper body heating up, my face is probably crimson red by now. The guy doesn't proceed to get a rise out of my embarrassment. He looks down at his crotch that has lightened up, "Excuse me, I have to take a call. Don't miss me too much," Dave winks and slides up and out.
And then there were two. It's me all by my lonesome with the epitome of sex on legs. He's taken to hitting on me, flattering it is, and whispering in my ear things that only a woman could dream of. Fame hypes up one's ego and Randy is no exception.
"Well, well, well look who we have here! It's Randall, nearest and dearest to my heart!" rings an all too familiar voice. I look up and it's Mr. Straight Edge himself. I have to hand it to him, he just saved me from answering a rather uncomfortable question, "And oh look, it's Mary Magdalene," he states in mock surprise.
Biting the inside of my cheek to keep from causing another disturbance, "Did you go out of your way just to be spiteful, Phillip?"
Laughing as though I've told him the joke of the century, Punk holds his heart dramatically, "No, I just happened to stop by. Don't mind me, get back to your usual business, I'm surprised ol' Randall here hasn't got you one article of clothing away from naked."
Here I am, taken aback. Not even, it's more like gob smacked. Like, why? I can't even…, "Better watch the next thing that comes out your mouth, boy," steps in the blue eyed wrestler, his demeanor rigid.
"Or what, killer? You're going to slap me or something?" challenges Punk.
My ex boyfriend's taunting is luring Randy in. He's getting the reaction he wants as the blue eyed hunk of a man begins to get up. I hold said wrestler down and slide over him to stand between him and Punk, "Stop it," I urge the man who resembles the late Curt Cobain, "Have you lost your fucking mind? This is my job and part of it is entertaining our special guest, Punk. You don't know him and quite frankly, he can have your ass arrested for shit like this. Go away!"
Inscribed fingers tap my head, like one does to a dog, and the owner grins, "But why would Randall do such a thing. We know each other after all, isn't that right," he looks over to Randy who's visibly annoyed.
"We do. Punk bitch has groupied along with us on a couple occasions. Heyman thinks he's the next big thing but Vince knows that signing his hobo lookin' ass will be the company's biggest fluke."
Sending a warning glare at Randy, I try to coax Punk into leaving peacefully. I didn't sign up for all this dramatic bullshit but as luck would have it, here it is staring me in the face with a grand smirk, waiting…waiting for another blow up. Fucking catalyst.
"Fluke, really, Randall? You offend me, no, you really do," snickers the antagonistic Straight Edge, "There's a reason why Heyman has such high hopes for me, but I don't need to explain myself. Especial don't need to explain to a kid that lucked out having Cowboy Bob Orton for a father. Tell him I said 'howdy'," on that note alone, Punk begins to stalk off but Randy reaches out to him faster than I can flinch, "Oh, did I say something?" asks Punk turning around.
Putting myself in the line of fire, I try to get Randy to budge but the man's dead set on annihilating the man in front of him, "Guys, quit it! Y'all gonna get our happy asses kicked out!" but they won't let up. It's like a game to them, "Guys!" the third generation Superstar backs the fuck up, fuming, refusing to let go of the situation. On the other plate, Punk smirks ever so joyfully at the problem he's upraised, "Please, I'm asking you, go back to whatever hole you came out of."
"I'm sorry, Marleene. Sorry, I didn't mean to wreck tonight's business arrangement. I just wanted to see, up close and personal how a ring rat does her thing," How could…? For a slight moment, a slight second, I allow his words to faze me. Between what he said earlier and now, I done had enough. I land one on him quicker than he can react, leaving a handprint. His head whips to the side and a hand covers the area, he stares at me sternly, "Struck a nerve, haven't I?"
Before I have time to go in for another, I hear a voice call out to me. Squeaky and girlish. I survey the area to find another unexpected guest, unwanted as well, Maria. Fucking Jesus! Dave is at her side looking alarmed. I paste a smile on my face while behind me, Randy wipes his face and Punk retreats, "Marleene, I didn't know you were going to be here! What a coincidence," she turns to Phil, "Why didn't you tell me?" her photogenic smile never leaves her face, I wonder how she does it even when she's upset. Does she even get upset?
"You know her?" inquires Dave and Maria nods, "Small world, isn't it?" he goes over and shakes Punk's hand before settling back into the both, motioning for Randy to do the same, "You two behaved, right?" to who he's referring to, I have no idea.
"Yeah," both indie and third generation wrestler murmur.
Sensing the tension in the air, Maria starts up an easy going conversation. Typical 'what're you doing here?' and whatnot. I give my usual reply of needing money and ask her the same. She twirls around in her aqua dress and mentions how Punkers spontaneously wanted a night out.
"That's nice. It's creepy cool how you and Dave just happened to meet up. You guys work together, Randy included, and here you are. If I didn't know better, I'd say you guys set this off," I mention with a light air of humor, "I mean, I didn't even think that I'd meet these guys much less sit and chat with them."
One thing about women, or a couple, is that we will smile, swirl, giggle, mingle, bake you apple pies, maybe wash your clothes, and even go along to your every word but when you want some sort of truth, it's all in the eyes. Why do I say this? Maria's looking pretty put off. Though, to a person who'd take in just her bubbly personality and dreamy owl eyes, they would never see it.
"Yeah," she teases her hair, "I didn't expect to see these guys on an everyday basis until February but here we are…" yeah, here we are.
Punk cranes his neck to stare at her, "What do you mean by that, babe?"
The celebrities of the group exchange glances, rocking on their heels. They know what Punk doesn't. Shit's going to hit the fan, "Not now, Phil."
"What?" he asks astonished, "It's clear to me that I'm missing a piece of this puzzle," Randy finding the couples pending quarrel humorous, he sniggers under his breath. My elbow jabs him in the ribs, or what feels like them. Setting his jaw, Punks snarls at the blue eyed man, "What's so fucking humorous, those voices telling you some kind of joke, Randall?"
"Guys, guys why don't we cool down, order us some shots, some Pepsi for you Punk, and enjoy the show?" suggests Dave, with Maria and I completely on board.
Skeletal fingers poke my shoulder blade and I whirl around to face a crimson red Barbs, "Hey, what's up?" I ask the twiddling lady and she stares on at the men before her. Humming with impatience, I ask again and she simply replies that it's time. Time as in, Jennifer's inevitable break has arrived and I'm the next act. This feeling in the pit of my stomach must be the same feeling one gets when they know just how fucked they are.
Phil's still uptight about Maria's silence and the two WWE gentlemen still rock on as I begin to lose sight of them, I'm going to get myself a drink. Hell, I'll put the whole bar on uncle's tab for all I care. Fuck my life.
A/N- I don't know how relevant our little boy toys will be to the story but I thought they'd make for a good guest appearance. Is Maria really all that shady? What's Marleene gonna come up with? She gonna bust out some magic tricks? Read on!