Where Paths Cross
In the middle of the hectic backstage, a talent workshop was held before Smackdown's taping.
A group of rosters were called out to the ring and they spread out around. Some wrestlers already occupied the chairs over the barricade, while others made camps on the aprons or the steel steps. The younger, more rebellious spirits took over the ring, dared themselves to sit on the rope like a balancing act.
"Lou, c'mere! Hold me."
Before Lou Smith could even reach Jeff's hand, he fell into the ringmat with a loud thud. She snorted, laughing at first. But suddenly felt very self-conscious with the fact that most of the attention was brought to them now. Their little antics, especially with the sound of the bump made all eyes turned in the ring, to them. At the corner of her eyes she could see the powerhouses, chilling out by the commentary table, glancing at them and then proceeding to say something; she'd thought it was about how stupid The Hardys and Friends were.
Lou decided to walk away from them and hid behind Bradshaw.
Vince McMahon, looking almost too casual without the suit, came and with him were some familiar faces, road agents and public relations. They started to brief them about the meeting. It wasn't anything particular, only a general preparation for the upcoming WWF convention held this weekend, something that most wrestlers were already familiar with. Nothing out of the ordinary, just two hours of fan-meetings and signings. Although this one seemed a bit bigger build up for this year's Wrestlmania, which was about a few weeks away.
Then the staff proceeded to call out the list of names, of who would attend the event on Saturday or Sunday. Naturally, the people began to group up based on what was announced.
Lou climbed off the ring, bid a brief bye to her friends and walked up to her own group rested by chairs. "Hello, Duds!" She shared two-hands hi-five at the pair of Dudley Boys, and smiled at the last one. "Hi Austin."
"Missy." He said, nodding. "This means we're sharin' the same day, huh."
"Apparently so." She leaned against the barricade. "Looks like a crowded convention." She looked around as more people joined them.
Soon, the crew brought out a couple of more pinpoints about the event, later handing out some papers amongst the two groups.
"This is the detailed rundown of the convention, including the order of who will be first—Lou, could you help pass it down to the next?" The PR rep began with handing over some bundles of papers.
Slipping on her reading glasses, she read. And then she heard a snort.
"Have I ever seen you with glasses before?" She jerked her head up when one half of The Dudley Stable made a remark. "You look like a librarian."
"Huh? What's that supposed to mean?" She raised an eyebrow at Bubba.
Devon scoffed. "Yeah, right. No librarian looks like that—tank top, short skirt, high boots? Way too classy for the job."
Feeling abruptly self-conscious, she pulled her jacket tight around herself, trying to cover her bare midriff. "Can't tell if that's supposed to be an insult or a compliment."
"It's a compliment for sure." He laughed.
"I don't believe it."
"Guys, could you not, please?" The staff cleared her throat.
The three mumbled an apology and the rest of the briefing went without any other distractions.
The whole meeting, if one could call it a meeting, went on for another fifteen minutes before the staff decided that they were almost due to prepare for Smackdown. They finally cut it short and one by one wrestlers went back into the backstage.
"I gotta say though, girl. You look different with glasses on." Devon said as they walked back.
"I haven't got my eye lenses yet."
"And the outfit? Either you have a photoshoot thing or a segment or sumthin'. What gives?"
"Both, actually. I have a backstage interview with Josh. Then I'll have a bit of a photoshoot and video taping. The wardrobe dept gave me this outfit." She said, straightening the pleat of her denim skirt. "Not the most comfortable ones, but sure it is cute."
"Do you have a match tonight?"
"None. I am here purely for those two. After that I'll take an early flight home."
"Wait. Home like, home home?" Bubba interjected. "Where's home?"
"The Utah home. My parents' house." She smiled. "I don't have anything else. Well, not until Sunday, of course, the meet 'n greet. So I'm spending my free time there. It's been a while anyway since I saw my family."
"Well if anything, you deserve a bit of holiday." Bubba nodded. "Fix your eyes while you're at it."
"You know, coming from a guy who wears hollow glasses for a living… do shuddup Bubba." Lou casually pointed out, already quickening her pace forward.
"Hey!"
Devon laughed. "She gotcha, Ray."
"Dammit."
Lou just laughed and flipped the curtain open.
Her interview was an instant agenda after that; she was already approached by her segment team. The crew decided to have it set in a random lobby somewhere around the corner, to capture the moment Josh Matthews, the interviewer, caught Lou Smith, casually entering the venue with the gold around her shoulder. The questions revolved around the appearance of Chyna and whether she would be a threat to the already heated rivalry with Ivory, and if Lou had any strategy for the triple threat match at X7.
Interviews like this were one of the segments she liked to do the most. While interviewer would already know the question list, the wrestlers opted not to see the full script so they could work around the answers more freely. There was creativity when going out of the script and her impulse helped to make the interview more meaningful. Her second favorite scene to play would be commentary; as generally she enjoyed trash talking opponents.
The segment didn't take too long to do. They only had done one take to finish; two if she counted the moment of redoing when a random clueless staff accidentally got into frame. Once the creative team was satisfied with the video, she was dismissed.
The photoshoot thing was also easily done, a regular white-screen photoshoot for her new 8x10 poster.
Now that everything was over, she was very free.
Her boarding schedule was not until eight, so Lou decided to linger a bit around the arena; passing through hallways, stepping by to the cafeteria for a snack, the photo rooms - before she ran out of ideas to do so and decided to go to the wardrobe room to return the outfit. While she did own her own wrestling gears, this particular promo outfit—other than her reading glasses and some jewelry—were not hers to keep. Not that she wanted to; none of these exactly her style of choice.
The jacket was cute though. Too bad she couldn't claim it for free.
Walking into the wardrobe room was like a sorority house all over again. Inside were already a couple of rosters, and their stylists, going through rolling racks for what clothes they were going to wear. A couple of changing rooms nearby and at the corner a couple of vanities for makeup and hairdressing. The first person she saw was Lita and her bright red hair standing out like a lava lamp, wearing all whites with of course a little bit of thong sticking out. Nearbys were the Hardys and Jericho taking turns in being braided here and there. There were a couple of others coming and going into the changing rooms. What felt like cramped stations all put together was in fact very organized yet dynamics at the same time.
Not really taking any rush, she walked up to a bench. "Hey Austin, do you mind?" She scooted in.
Steve Austin peered from the magazine. "Nah, go ahead, Smith."
…
Steve wasn't sure what to do after the meeting.
He hung out in the locker room most of the time, talking about his interview segment with JR and The Rock. After that he proceeded to discuss his match along with Kurt. When both Rocky and Kurt were being pulled by the staff, he moved to join an ongoing game of Dominos with a couple of boys.
He grew bored there and he tried to sneak into Vinnie Mac's office. He wasn't there though.
Steve eventually let his feet guide him, and before he knew it, he was stepping into the wardrobe room. His fitting wasn't scheduled until later—not that he needed much. Stone Cold didn't require styling; his merch T-shirt, denim shorts, and signature look were already set. Hair? No. Makeup? Hell no!
The chaos inside—outfits being tossed around, the whir of hairdryers, and the general rush of activity—made him almost invisible in the bustling space. He walked past racks of costumes and wrestlers getting ready, barely drawing a second glance. Sitting by an open bench, he took a couple of reading materials, mostly out of date magazines going back to 1998. He opened and closed one and rummaged some more and ended up reading more Pro-Wrestling Illustrated.
Ironic that he was on the cover of the magz, yet he never really read what was in it.
He flipped pages over pages over pages.
"Hey Austin, do you mind?"
He felt a shadow creeping from the side. He peered from the magazine. "Nah, go ahead, Smith."
"Whatcha reading?" Lou said, sitting down next to him.
Quickly he jerked his hand and showed her. She looked over and grinned. It was her biography article, with her picture on it. "Nice—like what you read?"
"Hm, not bad. You're not kiddin' about the gymnastics stuff." Steve replied. "I knew you're French, but didn't know you were born there."
"Yep. Born and raised for ten years. Family moved to the US around '84."
Steve nodded and went through the column. His finger pointed to the paper again. "What's this…'plus key james'?"
He knew he butchered the French, and Lou's laugh confirmed it. "Plus que jamais - means more than ever." She corrected him. "It's like to emphasize an importance"
"Ah."
Steve went on reading her paragraphs and went through the next pages altogether and she excused herself to take off the miserable knee high boots, complete with the buckle and all. The sound of hissing and discomfort from the young woman, he ignored at first. But then he glanced down and quickly grimaced at the idea of walking half of the day in those dangerous footwear—if not for the risk of slipping and falling, then the risk of getting poked in the eye.
"Those things can really break your ankles, missy." He finally retorted, pacing the magazine back on the coffee table. "I don't get why you and everyone wanna torture yourself with that device."
She lifted the boot to eye level and observed it, flipping it side to side. "It's not a device, dude. It's just shoes, with elevated heels, for four inches." She giggled. "I asked for regular boots, but they insisted on these. Said it completed the look."
Steve snorted. "Yeah, well, 'looks' aside, one wrong move and you'll be flat on your ass—or worse."
She shrugged, still giggling, as she stood up and made her way toward the makeup station.
Steve's eyes automatically followed her.
Steve had a fair exposure of Divas wearing an almost too revealing outfit as part of the show's marketing plan but he admitted Lou's outfit was not the worst he had ever seen. It didn't look all too comfortable, but it was rather fitting on her. She had ditched the denim jacket and outline of her bralette formed a bodice and the neckline revealed a bit of modest imagination. As she walked, the skirt hugged her curves and showcased a set of toned legs that added to her effortless allure.
Lou fixed her hair up, and only then Steve noticed her bare back. He hadn't seen the tattoo before, but now it was hard to miss. A large, intricate winged-like design spanned her back, visible with this outfit. Wild, bold and striking, it seemed like it was made to be seen in something like this. He knew of her forearm tattoo that she always covered up in the ring. This one in particular, did she always have it?
Honestly, screw the boots. The tattoo fits better.
As more people started to fill in the room for their respective clothes fitting, Steve decided it was his time to move. Rather than going back to the locker room, he detoured to the cafeteria, just to grab another quick bite of the chicken wraps.
The familiar hum of casual chatter greeted him as he stepped in, spotting a few familiar faces lingering at the tables. Steve grabbed a snack and joined in on some lighthearted conversation. Partway through, The Godfather leaned over and nudged his arm. Steve frowned, curious, and followed his line of sight.
You've gotta be kidding me.
"Hi, Steve. Can we talk real quick?"
Steve's jaw tightened, but he managed a nod. "Sure. Let's go outside." He gestured toward the door, leading Debra into the empty hallways.
Vince had promised Steve she was out of the storyline altogether—no involvement with Rocky's angle, no scenes where he'd have to see her. Instead, Vince had talked her into a new angle, something about making her a secretary commissioner with Regal or other managerial role. But that did nothing to ease the tension tightening Steve's mind.
Debra was back. She'd be around, and they'd cross paths whether he liked it or not.
"How are you, Steve—"
"What the hell are you doin' here?" He cut her off sharply. "You said you were quittin'. That was part of our damn agreement."
"Agreement?" Debra's laugh was brittle. "You didn't even bother to call me for weeks, Steve. What 'agreement'? I don't owe you anything."
"Shut up!" he growled, clenching his fists. "I don't know what game you're playin' here, Debra, but you and I keep our mess private. No one else gets dragged in. Got it?"
Debra's expression remained calm, unflinching. "I'm not playing a game, Steve. You already won, remember? The marriage is over. I gave up on you. But I'm not giving up my career. I love this job as much as you do, and you can't push me out. For once, don't be selfish."
"Fine." He forced the word out, barely containing his anger. "Have it your way. Just stay out of mine."
Debra's lips curved slightly, and he fought the urge to react. "Agreed. No personal baggage at work. We're coworkers. Let's keep it professional."
Steve ground his teeth, wondering if dealing with her was harder than the neck injury.
Then, Debra's voice softened. "Who else did you tell?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
She shrugged. "I assume you told Vince about...everything. Who else knows?"
"That's none of your business anymore."
"You're right. But people talk, Steve. Watch yourself. Words can land in the wrong ears."
Much as he hated it, she was right. In this business, rumors could spread fast.
"Only Vince knows. For now." He said tersely.
"Same." She nodded, adjusting her jacket before glancing back at him. "And, Steve?"
He waited, wondering what she'd throw at him next.
"And Steve…take care of yourself. Really."
Steve's jaw clenched, and for a moment, he couldn't find the words. He hadn't expected kindness from her, especially not now, not after everything. He shifted, looking away to mask his reaction.
Finally, he managed. "Don't worry about me. I've been doin' just fine without you."
But his voice lacked the bite he'd intended, and he knew she'd notice.
Debra gave a slight nod, eyes searching his face. "Good to hear." She said softly, a faint, almost wistful smile tugging at the corner of her lips before she turned to go.
Steve took a deep drag of a cigarette and puffed it out. A bitter taste filled his mouth, the kind that had followed him for months after she'd left. She was supposed to be out of his life—gone, clean break, no looking back. They'd agreed on that much, or so he'd thought. Yet here she was, strolling back into the world they'd once shared.
Take care of yourself, really.
The nerve of her, to walk back into his life like this, after everything she'd put him through. It was almost insulting, the way she acted like they could just pretend things were fine, like he should somehow appreciate her being back. She was the one who'd said she was done—quitting both the job and the life they'd built together. Now, she stood there with this casual, almost gentle, reminder that she'd still 'here' from a distance? He couldn't tell if she was trying to make peace or play some kind of game. Either way, the attempt grated at him.
He'd trusted her once, believed her promises, believed she'd stay for the long haul. But that trust had been shattered the day she walked out, and every attempt to rebuild himself since had been a reminder of just how foolish he'd been.
And now, she was back, acting like they could share the same space without any of that history coming back to haunt him.
He tightened his fists, barely holding back the urge to shout after her, to demand why she was here, what she thought she was trying to accomplish by waltzing back into his world. But he knew better. She'd only throw some calm, collected answer back at him, tell him to "let go" or "move on," as if she hadn't been the one to turn his life upside down. That hint of calm in her eyes, as if she'd moved on so easily while he still felt the sting—that was perhaps the worst of it all.
The idea of being defeated by her suddenly angered him. "Son of a bitch!" The metal can rattled, toppling over with a loud clang, spilling papers and coffee cups onto the ground.
As he crouched down, hastily gathering the scattered mess, a quiet chuckle broke the silence behind him. He looked up to see Lou Smith, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth.
"Didn't know a trashcan is Stone Cold's arch-nemesis." she said, amused.
Steve felt heat creeping up his neck, embarrassment with frustration. He had hoped no one had seen him like this. "Guess I didn't either," he muttered, forcing a short laugh. "Just…didn't see it there."
"Right." Lou replied, the smile lingering. She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a couple of paper towels and a small bottle of water. "Here. For the blood on your leg."
He looked down, only now noticing the thin trickle of blood where the metal can had grazed his shin. This wasn't one of the flimsy props they used for a gimmick, that was for sure. "Thanks." he said, quickly wiping at the cut.
Lou glanced around, then back at him.
"What are you doin' out here, Smith?" he asked, hoping to shift focus.
"Headed to the parking lot." She replied. "I'm not on tonight's card. Cleared it with the officials."
They stood in silence for a moment, the tension thick. He couldn't quite read Lou's expression—a skill he'd usually mastered with people—but she was a closed book, always calm, always unflappable. Amused by his outburst, maybe, but beyond that? He couldn't tell if she'd picked up on his current state.
Unsure of what else to do, he held out his pack of cigarettes in silent offering. She glanced at it, hesitated, then took one with a faint nod of thanks. As they smoked, Steve felt the tension slowly unravel. Lou didn't pry, didn't push, just shared the silence. And he was thankful for that.
Between the sharp, familiar smell of burning tobacco and the quiet crackle of smoke curling up into the cool night air, he felt a small measure of peace. Each inhale steadied him and softened the raw edges left in Debra's wake. For a moment he could almost forget about the turmoil in her presence. The anger, the frustration, the feeling of betrayal—they all drifted, smoothed by the smoke winding through his lungs.
He didn't have to answer to anyone right now, didn't have to keep up appearances. Here, in this small pocket of silence and solitude, he could just be.
It wasn't much, but as he took another slow drag, he realized it was enough.