Kiss Me
I didn’t watch my angle go down that night, remaining too busy with my case transfers, working
desperately to finish my caseload. I must be prepared; like a drill Sargent; I rehearse what could happen to
any wrestler at any time in any circumstance under my watch so that I can react to a string of symptoms
automatically, like a robot with a PHD. Lonely though I might have been, I sat in the hotel room, drank
water, nibbled a lunch, and memorized.
Finally I deem myself done and take a shower, changing into a sweater set I received from my Uncle Vince
as a birthday gift yesterday at the PPV. It is, very slightly, still fragrant of popcorn and cotton candy,
because I opened my gift near the concession stand. Last night was my last as a fan, tonight the same as a
casual hotel observer; tomorrow at the Tuesday tapings, I will become an authority figure.
The new on-call nurse on the WWF touring company.
The bar, of course, is the general name given to any restaurant with a liquor license in the closest proximity
to the hotel the guys are staying at. In this case, the bar was a very nice, fancy restaurant called “The
Tidal.” It’s theme was (obviously) oceanic, from the glass doors frosted with seashell shapes to the sea-
blue walls to the gigantic pillar-shaped aquarium directly in the center of the room, separating the smoking
section from the non-smoking section.
I fumbled my way through the doorway, which wasn’t manned by a hostess tonight (bad move; with the
influx of fans it could be a real madhouse). Feeling recklessly independent that night; I gloried in my
triumph over a gigantic stack of paper. So I strutted out past the bar section (which inhabited a few
wrestlers already; they didn’t know who I was yet and I didn’t look at them), and through the cluster of
fans.
I always have been amazed by the variety of fans that frequent hotel bars. They can be separated into
categories; the ring rats, puffed out in skin-tight tops with headlights blaring, snickering and chatting as
they prepared themselves for a night of proposition; The autograph hunters, sitting eagerly in wrestling
shirts with big, thick books (even professionals, with a briefcase of 8x10’s and Sharpie pens, waiting to
pounce and sell). The “inside” fans, waiting to pass along some interesting tidbit to Meltzer, Keller and
Shearer and praying someone gets drunk enough to throw a fit. The “smarts”, who can recite the NWA
title history backwards in Latin and do so just to annoy their companions. The families, who, probably here
after the show for a bite to eat, will retreat in horror to their rooms or homes after seeing what can be done
when a bunch of wrestlers get together. I heard whispers as I walked by.
“Hey, isn’t that Vince’s daughter again?”
“Nah, she’s too tall. And her tits are smaller.”
“So who the hell is she?”
“Dunno.”
“Vince has a daughter.”
“Hell yeah! Her name’s Stephanie and she’s stacked like a brick shit….”
By now, I was out of the reach of the conversation. So, Stephanie was here? She happened to be my
favorite cousin. I wondered briefly if I would see her.
Dumbly, I stood around wondering where I was going to sit when I saw a big, badly-scrawled sign, posted
over the “Mermaid room”, reading “Titan Sports Employees only.”
After a brief argument with a security guard who resembled Ralphus of WCW fame (which I won only
because I was armed with my Titan Towers employee ID), I found myself in an elegant, dimly-lit pink
room.
An empty elegant, dimly-lit pink room.
I sighed. At least the service here was prompt. A short, harried blond rushed me to a nearby table, where a
taller, blonder waiter took my order.
“Just a glass of ice water,” I announced, “I’m expecting company.”
My company, of course, was my closest friends in wrestling, Joanie, Terri, Jackie,and Luna.
Terri was the first to arrive. When we met first about a year before this, she said two things to me: “Watch
out!” (Just before I tripped over her) and “You look tired. Want me to take you shopping?” This is typical
of Terri, as she loves shopping, taking people shopping, and dressing everything from her daughter to her
dog. She spent years dressing Larry King before she became a valet and Dustin’s wife. Nearly as much,
she loves to dress herself and her daughter up in neatly put-together, matching outfits. Dressing herself
alone was an art form to Terri; That night, she wore a tiny, fringed white wrap-around skirt that displayed
nearly all of her gams and a tiny white cut-off tee-shirt that displayed her entire midriff, the cross on her
naval ring jangling as she walked.
On her feet a pair of floppy white sneakers gleamed. The heels she wore in the ring tended to bother her
too much if she stomped around in real life with them. The bar roiled around her; men made lewd
comments that she brushed off or winked at, women smiled or scowled at her. She paused a few times,
scribbling her name on a few pictures, napkins. A few fans handed her something that she took. Then she
flashed her Titan ID at “Ralphus” and he escorted her to the non-smoking area.
Terri saw me quickly and maneuvered around the mostly empty seats. “Hi!” She nearly shouted, I jumped
more than stood up and we hugged. Terri only comes up to my lower chest, she’s that short (And I’m that
tall at 6’0”) without her spikes. She bends me forward, kissing me on each cheek.
“Where did you go this morning? I haven’t seen you since breakfast.”
“I spent the whole day fixing case files and memorizing the talent history. I even know yours.”
“What am I allergic to?” she challenged
“Penicillin. You’ve given birth and had a tonsillectomy, a breast augmentation, and a nose job.”
“How long did it take you to learn that?” She checked around us to make sure her plastic surgery secrets
weren’t revealed.
“A couple of hours.”
“Wow. So, how do you think you’ll do?”
“With what?”
“With work, of course!”
“I will do,” I said honestly, “The best that I can.”
She nodded in agreement, “I could never do what you’ve done. You’re so brave.”
“I’m rich. It was easy.”
“You graduated nursing school in three years time!”
“Yes, well, apparently I’m not just good-looking.”
Terri chuckled at that, and that’s when Jackie practically BOUNDED up to the table, “You won’t believe
it!” She said.
“What?” We both asked.
“I FINALLY got George to pay child support!”
“NO FUCKIN’ WAY!” We both cried in delight for Jackie, bouncing up for hugs. Her battle with her ex-
boyfriend had run for over a year, after he left her when she started working for Titan.
“The money’s only principal, of course, I’m putting it all back into the congregation,” She said, referring to
the church her father had preached at before he died.
I had forgotten how excitable Terri gets when something great happens to someone else. She lauded Jackie
with praise, deemed tonight a celebration, called the waiter, and ordered something beyond her usual
intake.
“I’m celebrating tonight! I’ll have the salad with dressing on top, not to the side, thank you!”
“What kind, Ma’am?” Our waiter asked.
“Vinegar!” She cried passionately, “and a Perrier!”
“Tsk Tsk,” I teased her, “You should’ve added on some steamed veggies. Everyone will think you’re a
glutton!”
“I don’t think he’d mind it too much if I got fat on him.”
That was eminently true of Dustin’s character. Whenever he and Terri first lay eyes on each other after a
separation, be it minute, hour-long or day, they connect lips-first. In a parking lot or a hotel lobby, they
tend to meet and then stand there, Dustin almost bent into two, Terri with all of her weight balanced on her
toes and his chest, dramatically French kissing without a damn for the rest of the world. It’s quite the
display.
“Did I tell you Dakota can quote all of the Spice Girls song?”
This surprised me. Dakota is only 4, in her first year of school. I know nothing about children. “She has
that kind of mental capacity?”
“Yup. She even does little dance moves for us. But she still wants to be a beauty queen when she grows
up.”
Dakota Runnels is a primary source of joy in the locker rooms around here. The guys tend towards
gentleness when confronted with each other’s daughters then when with their sons, though they tone it
down all together for anyone under the age of 16. Dakota’s favorite guy is Shawn Michaels now, which
rises some jealousy when it comes to her daddy.
The waiter had come around for our orders, and Jackie ordered a chicken breast with steamed veggies and
potatoes. I gave in to my urge for barbecued ribs, which seemed an odd eating choice in the company of
Jackie and Terri, but I received no reproach for it. Then I ordered a margarita. Then Jackie ordered a
daiquiri. Terri abstained with a virgin Strawberry colada.
After our drinks arrived, so did Joanie, “I know I’m late, but Hunter kept flubbing his lines.” She said
breezily. I decided not to broach the Hunter subject. That was just way to controversial. “How did your
hearing go?” She asked Jackie, as she sat beside me. That was Joanie’s way of acknowledging me without
saying a word.
Jackie reiterated her happy news to Joanie. “Well, I’m glad they finally found him. So he’s willing to
pay?”
“He has to or he goes to jail. Turns out he owes four other girls some back payments, too.”
“Oh!” Terri sighed.
“I know.” She scooped some daiquiri directly into her mouth with her dinner spoon before she resignedly
said. “Damn, I thought he was IT.”
“Like me and Perry.”, Joanie said, referring to her first boyfriend in the business, (Perry) Saturn.
“That’s different. Perry wasn’t cheating on you with a team of cheerleaders. He was cheating on you with
Scott Levey.”
“Ouch. Thanks for making me remember that one.”
“Need something? I’m buying.” Jackie said.
“You got paid?”
“Last weekend. I saved it up for this special occasion.”
Joanie ordered a rum and Coke, which arrived quickly (I think the waiter was afraid of her). We toasted
Jackie’s financial freedom, Terri’s upcoming push, my new job, and Joanie’s push. “TO….” I started,
Then Terri pitched in “TO BEING A BITCH!!!” We followed her lead, pounding our drinks down as we
choked laughing.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you, Luna’s off with David tonight.”
“What’re they doing?”
“Promos. She’s got the East coast swing with Sable and he’s doing last-minute sketches with Adam and
Jay.”
ADAM. I felt a chill run down my spine at the sound of his name.
“Are you OK?” Terri asked, concern developing in her eyes.
“Huh?”
“You went all pale when I said Adam’s name. Do you know each other?”
Panic seized my heart. I looked at Joanie for an out. As it turns out, one wasn’t needed.
“Terri, some guy’s staring at you.”
“Huh?” Terri craned her neck backwards, then grabbed it. “Darned bump,” she muttered, and she swiveled
in her seat, “Which guy are you talking about?”
“That guy, by the bar, in the Calvin and Hobbs Tee-shirt.”
Terri squinted, then recognition seemed to hit her. “That’s Stevie!” She said, sounding pleasantly
surprised. “Wait here, I’ll go get him!”
I slumped in my seat when she left the dining area.
“What was that all about?” Jackie asked. “I’ve never seen you look so awful.”
“It’s a very long story.” I said, blotting my sweating forehead with a napkin.
Jackie looked at Joanie, “You know?”
Joanie nodded.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?”
“That depends on your definition of disaster.”
“Take a look behind you,” Jackie suggested, “You’ll feel better.”
I turned my head. The bar was slowly becoming rowdy. Waiters dashed about madly, and the bartender
had his hands full trying not to bottom out the tap. Terri and “Stevie” (Whoever he is, I thought), were
laughing and talking like old friends. I, to my shame, admit I tried reading lips.
Jackie, as always, noted my interest before Joanie did, “That’s Stevie Richards. He did a Raw once, and he
worked for WCW while I was there.” She filled in.
“Really? Is he a nice guy?”
“Very.”
“He’s also your type.” Teased Joanie
I chafed at being pigeonholed romantically, “He isn’t.”
“Oh, come on, look at him.”
I WAS looking at him; studying the length of his legs, torso, arms and hair. He seemed to flow in one,
long, unbroken line, from ankle to head. The dim light sparkled off of his glasses a wrestler who actually
wears his glasses in public, I thought, touching my own reflexively). His smile seemed engaging. I did
want to know more about him, despite myself.
Great, I finally vow to stop looking for men, and the hottest guy I’ve ever seen gets thrown in front of me.
Terri’s conversation with Stevie seemed to be coming to an end now, and to my horror they began walking
to the Titan dining area. Joanie and I, of course, flung ourselves forward, and Jackie looked down at her
dinner plate (from which she prudently ate half a whole-wheat roll). Terri argued with “Ralphus” for a few
minutes, and some sort of commotion from the other end of the bar sent him to grander duty. Terri took
this as a chance to sneak back in.
Terri introduced Stevie to Jackie first, then Joanie.
“Isobel McMahon, I’d like you to meet Stevie Richards.”
Swallowing a large, fortifying gulp of margarita.
I looked up.
I took his hand……