Ringside Seats Ch. 01

Tiffany was still apprehensive about the idea, but she couldn't back out after Deborah had worked so hard to get her back in. "Okay, I'll do the show. Another more week won't kill me." She sighed. "Listen, about last night . . ."

". . . was incredible," Deborah interrupted. "And I don't want it to be the last time. You did . . . enjoy yourself, didn't you?"

"More than anything," Tiffany responded, taking a deep breath and swallowing the air.

"Maybe it's okay for us to need each other . . . to want each other, if only for a little while. And I figure we have an hour before I need to drop you off at your car." She led Tiffany towards the bathroom. "So that gives us enough time for a shower and . . ." Deborah started giggling as her lover lifted her off her feet and carried her into the shower. When it was all said and done, Tiffany was barely able to make it to pick up Sally on time.

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The following Wednesday . . .

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"What a fuckin' roller coaster," Tiffany thought, sitting in a small, dimly lit room waiting for an interview. A week earlier, she had been planning to quit the job she loved so much. Then, she had slept with her boss's wife, who had convinced Tiffany to stay with the company a little while longer. On Sunday, she had made out with Deborah again in her husband's office. On Monday, she had been almost half an hour late to work because Sally hadn't been feeling well and her doctor's appointment ran over, and Tiffany had been fired. In their opinions, she had put her concern with her daughter over a bunch of drunk people one too many times. She almost had a nervous breakdown and had called Deborah, saying she definitely had to drop off the L.A. show so she could find another job. With Deborah's husband still out of town, she hurried over to Tiffany's apartment to console her. With Sally there, Deborah had to keep her hands off her lover, which wasn't easy. She still had partial ownership of a couple of strip-clubs, but neither of them needed bartenders. Tiffany didn't see anything immediately available in sports therapy, which was the only other thing she had any training in, and it had been a long time since college.

Finally Deborah made one last call. It was for a fairly exclusive club, but the owners had once been involved in the adult movie industry and she had known them pretty well. But that had been years earlier. She knew the club was still there, but she wasn't sure she still had the stroke to get in the door. Luckily, the owners remembered her and said they could use another bartender. It wasn't a particularly glamorous shift. The club was "available" twenty-four hours a day, but the daylight hours were pretty slow. But Deborah assured her that she would still make at least as much as she did before and, with the right customers, could make a whole lot more. Tiffany was concerned about what that meant, but she was assured that it involved people who tipped VERY well to insure their privacy. Deborah set up an interview for Tiffany the next morning and Tiffany almost broke down crying as she thanked the woman. She insisted that Deborah stick around for dinner, even though she was only making mac and cheese. It was Sally's favorite. They watched "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory," then Tiffany sent Sally to bed. After a little bit of kissing and heavy petting, Deborah had gone home.

So Tiffany had gotten up early and nervously prepared. She wished she had more time to get ready, since her nerves were pretty much shot. She dropped Sally off at her sister's house, then headed to the interview. She had never been there before, and the building wasn't actually marked. She was escorted to the owner's office where she had been waiting.

The owner finally arrived and apologized for his tardiness. He was a gaunt man with hollow eyes and thinning hair. He didn't offer to shake her hand, which Tiffany thought was odd. He asked her about her work experience and training. He even wanted to know about her career aspirations regarding professional wrestling. Apparently, Deborah had told him quite a bit about Tiffany. He even asked her about her daughter, which is one thing Tiffany couldn't shut up about once she had started talking. The owner, Mr. Raymond Russell, actually seemed quite relaxed during that portion of the conversation.

"I'm not sure if Deborah told you, but there are certain things about this place that you should know. When I opened this place almost ten years ago, I wanted it to be a haven for its patrons where they could enjoy a drink and some companionship without the judgements and prying eyes of the world outside."

Tiffany was confused about something. "I'm just a little surprised to see a . . . man . . . running a lesbian bar."

"Don't be," he said with a wry smile. "I enjoy the energy of the place, but I can do without the temptation to participate." He noticed another look of confusion on Tiffany's face. "Ms. Thurman, did Mrs. Wells tell you why she left the adult video business?"

"Yes. There was an HIV scare a number of years ago."

"And Deborah got out while the getting was good." He stopped to cough. "Not everyone was so wise, and not everyone escaped unharmed. My partner was one such person and, due to a lapse in adequate preparation years later, so was I."

"I'm so sorry . . ." Tiffany started.

"Don't be." He placed his elbows on his desk and leaned forward. "Mrs. Thurman, life is about living, and that requires taking some risks. My partner took her risks, as did I. Deborah decided to take more sensible risks, and I envy her for that. And I understand that you are taking some risks of your own. It's what makes life interesting. Once, I just liked the idea of hanging out what attractive homosexual women. Now, I live vicariously through them."

"How long . . ."

". . . do I have left? Or how long have I been afflicted? I have no real knowledge of the former and not much interest in the latter. I have every intention of holding on to life, kicking and screaming if I have to. I like fighters Ms. Thurman. That's why I think I'll take another chance here today. The job is yours if you want it." Still a little baffled but overjoyed to be employed again, it was all Tiffany could do to nod. "Very well," Mr. Russell continued. "Ms. Thurman, welcome to The Dark."

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Saturday evening . . .

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"Man, Tiffany's on fire tonight!" Vicky said, peering out from behind the backstage curtain. The other wrestlers gathered around couldn't help but concur; even the ones that Tiffany was sometimes at odds with.

Paul "Mr. Smooth" Sternberg was standing next to her. "She's selling everything Vixen is throwing perfectly. I was nervous about putting a rookie in as quick as John decided to, but Demonica is carrying the match."

Deborah was standing nearby, trying to contain her smile. She had talked with some writers and changed the story line again. Tiffany would still lose, but it would be by disqualification. "Demonica" would go nuts and destroy the attractive newcomer with a "foreign object." This would get Tiffany some more heel heat and help put Vixen over. The Warrior Maidens were poised to do a run in and make the save, setting up a handicap match between them and Demonica at the Los Angeles show. Vicky and Jeanna were good performers, and the three of them could put on a pretty good match. She still had the writers trying to come with idea for how to get Marcia "Vixen" Levinson back into the angle. She had some thoughts of her own, but she wanted to mull them over with the participants before making any definite suggestions. She had just been to visit John, who was hanging out with some potential investors. Even he was impressed by the performance Tiffany was putting on, and he was trying to spin it so that his buddies thought it was all his idea.

"Shit," said Jeanna, breaking Deborah out of her reverie. Tiffany was "losing it," having just kicked the official in the nuts and grabbed an aluminum trashcan from underneath the ring. She forced the item between the top and middle ropes in one corner, then gave Vixen a hard Irish whip into that corner. Vixen's back collided with the trashcan with a satisfactory crunch, and the pretty newcomer collapsed.

That was Jeanna and Vicky's cue. Valkyrie and Amazon rushed the ring and assaulted Demonica before she could do more damage. A few double-team maneuvers followed up by a double dropkick sent the evil Demonica flying out of the ring, much to the delight of the crowd.

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A few minutes later . . .

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"Are you okay?" Tiffany asked worriedly. She had thrown Marcia into the corner a little harder than she had meant to.

"Okey dokie," the blonde said smiling. "I LOVED the sound though."

Jeanna and Vicky had "helped" Vixen back from the ring after the attack. "It looked pretty sweet. There was actually a small 'Holy shit' chant going after that," Jeanna said. It was always good to see someone excited about the show, even if it came at the expense of a shot like that.

"Hey ladies," said John Wells as he walked up, Deborah at his side. "Good show. Listen, I got the writers to come with some ideas for Los Angeles. I'll let Debbie here fill you in," he added, not noticing that his wife was rolling her eyes. Vicky, Jeanna, Marcia and Tiffany were straining not to laugh. John wandered off to talked with the investors again. Finally, the women all began to snicker.

Vicky exchanged a knowing glance with Jeanna, who smiled and nodded. Vicky looked back at her companions. "Listen, we were thinking of grabbing something to eat after the show. Why don't we talk about things over dinner?"

"As nice as that sounds, I've got to go pick up my daughter," Tiffany replied regretfully. She'd always thought a night out with the girls would be cool, and last weekend's outing with Deborah had reminded her how cool it could be.

"Bring her along," was Jeanna's contribution. "We can keep dinner strictly Rated-PG."

"Are you sure you don't mind?" Tiffany asked. Usually people shied away from outings with children involved.

"Nah, it's cool!" Vicky was grinning. "Sally's a cute kid!"

"Thanks!" Tiffany was practically beaming. Saying nice things about her girl was a quick way into her good graces. "I'll swing by and pick her up. Where did you guys want to eat?" Then she remembered something, and turned to Deborah. "You up for it?" she asked. She realized Deborah often felt just as left out as she herself did, and she had grown quite fond of her . . . friend.

"Sure," Deborah said, albeit a bit nervously. "If you two don't mind?"

"The more the merrier!" said the eternally perky Vicky. "That means you too Marcia."

The woman known as Vixen grinned. "Thanks, but I've got a hot date. Maybe next time?"

"Rain checks are accepted, but must be cashed within two weeks."

"I can live with that."

Jeanna was a bit nervous about having the boss's wife around, but she figured that as long as she and Vicky kept their hands off each other during dinner, Mrs. Wells wouldn't suspect a thing.

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Later that evening . . .

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Over the course of the evening, Vicky had become Sally's new best friend. Sally told her everything that she knew about everything, and Vicky paid rapt attention to every detail, nodding her head and acting as if it were the most important conversation on earth. It was darling for Tiffany to watch, and let her chat more easily with Jeanna and Deborah. It was almost therapeutic for Tiffany. She hadn't been able to just shoot the shit with colleagues in . . . well, forever. But as they were eating desserts, at Sally's insistence, the conversation took an odd twist.

Deborah almost absentmindedly turned to Tiffany and asked how things were going at her new job.

"Fine. I did training the last couple days, which was okay since I already knew most of the laws and regulations. Found out where everything was . . . including cleaning supplies. Man, you wouldn't believe some of the stuff that goes on there. Just the things I saw when Raymond gave me the tour . . . definitely not the sort of place I could ever take munchkin here," she added, ruffling Sally's hair. The young girl had been deeply engrossed in her sundae and was completely unaware of what her mother was talking about. But Tiffany had to watch what she said. She realized that a "birds and bees" conversation would probably come up somewhere down the road, but she wasn't quite ready for her daughter to have a grown-up conversation.

"Where are you working?" Jeanna asked.

"A place called The Dark."

"God, they have the best margaritas there," said Vicky, causing Jeanna's eyes to shoot open until they were wide enough to drive a truck through. "Jeanna and I started going there for happy hour on Wednesdays, since . . ." Suddenly, the blonde woman stopped talking as Jeanna stepped not too gently on her foot. But the damage had been done.

A scowl briefly crossed Tiffany's face, but she struggled to remove it. "Sally honey, it's past your bedtime. Time to go home."

"But Mom . . ."

"No 'buts' young lady. We have to get you up early so you can go visit your Grandpa."

Sally stopped arguing. Every now and the, she picked up on that particular tone that indicated that her mother wasn't looking for an argument, so she dutifully got up and waited to be taken to the car.

The other women at the table realized that Tiffany wasn't exactly happy. Vicky was just realizing what she had effectively admitted just a moment earlier, and that Jeanna was going to be none to happy with her for it. Tiffany reached for her purse, and Deborah offered to pick up the tab, hoping to soothe her friend's anger. All that earned her was a dirty look as Tiffany covered her portion and that of her daughter, then she headed out to the parking lot with Sally in tow. Jeanna turned and glared at Vicky, who blanched noticeably under that withering look. Deborah put down her portion and excused herself for a moment, indicating she'd be back. She followed Tiffany out to the parking lot. She saw the woman helping Sally into the car, and moved to intercept before she left.

"What's up?" she asked.

"What's up?!?" Tiffany almost shouted, then glanced towards the car before lowering her voice. "How can you even ask that?"

"So it looks like they're gay. So what? I mean, maybe that everything's out in the open . . ."

"Things aren't more 'out in the open' though. They're not 'out' at all."

"Well, that's their decision, isn't it?"

Tiffany stopped and put her hands on the car, bowing her head. "Every day I hear what the other girls and some of the guys say about me. I'm no teenager, but it still . . . it pisses me off. And all this time, they haven't said a damn thing. They knew what I was going through. All those times I could've used a sympathetic ear or maybe have someone on my side, they just stood by and watched."

"Not everyone's as confident . . ."

"Do I look 'confident' to you? Deb, except for you, I haven't had a single person on my side in a long time, not counting my family." She turned around, sighed, and put her hands on her hips. "I know it's not fair to expect them to deal with the shit I do just to make me feel better. It's just . . . I realize that being gay isn't like belonging to a union or anything. But they understood . . . and as stupid and self-centered as it sounds, they could've stood up for me just once. Instead, they just fucking hid, and . . ." Tiffany was getting so choked up that she could barely speak.

"Hey, I AM on your side. C'mon, you know how scary it can be. And the fact that people give you so much shit probably doesn't make the idea any easier for them. They're making the first step by trying to be friends at least. Just . . . just give 'em a chance, okay? I've been in your shoes. I'm the whore / trophy wife without a clue in her head, remember?"

"You're no whore," Tiffany grumbled.

"I know, but I'm no saint either, as you've discovered for yourself." Deborah said that last part just to make Tiffany blush, and it worked. "Listen, get your girl home and get some rest. And think about what I said. Do you really want to go burning bridges that could lead you to somewhere better?" She put the palm of her hand against Tiffany's face, stroking the woman's cheek for a thumb. They couldn't take it any further than that, though Deborah very much wanted to. They had their own secrets to keep.

Unbeknownst to her, Jeanna saw the entire exchanged from the doorway of the restaurant. She had come out, hoping to talk to Tiffany, but had decided to hold back and not interrupt. 'That's interesting,' she thought as she observed Deborah's gesture. 'I wonder if there's something going on there?' Then she ducked back inside the restaurant.

Tiffany left and Deborah went back inside. She decided to let the girls sort out the problem on their own.

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A few days later . . .

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Tiffany was wandering around, trying to get everything in order for the evening shift. She got to work a little bit of The Dark's version of happy hour, which was a pretty lucrative time. Not that she was complaining the rest of the time. The money, even during the slow day shift, was better than she had earned before. And a lot of the women that came in weren't even looking to do much drinking. They either brought companions with them or found one (or more) at the bar, then went to one of the many dance-floors or dark corners to perform whatever activity was appropriate for the location. She was amazed how much sex happened in that club, and one of the evening bartenders had told her that this was the slow season. Once the fall was in full swing, she was assured that she'd see things that she hadn't even imagined before.

Tiffany herself was getting hit on far more often than she was used to, and she had to admit it was kind of nice, even if the people doing it were a bit tipsy. But she wasn't sure exactly what her relationship was with Deborah, or if there was any future between them, so politely rebuffed such advances.

"God," she mumbled as she was cleaned some glasses up, "you get laid once and you're thinking about finding Ms. Right already."

"You know, talking to yourself is a sure sign of dementia," came a familiar voice. Tiffany looked up and saw Jeanna waiting by the bar.

"I've survived a long time with other people thinking I'm a little weird. I suspect I'll survive this too. Can I get you a drink?"

Jeanna pulled up a barstool. "Don't mind if I do. I'll take a Sam Adams. Do you guys take checks? Credit cards? Apologies?"

Tiffany grabbed a long neck and handed it to Jeanna. The woman on the barstool was dressed to the nines, with a low-cut baby-doll tee-shirt and skin-tight blue jeans.

"Apologies? For what?" the barkeep asked as she started doing a number of other minor tasks that easily could wait until later.

"Do you know what a sixteen-year-old is?" asked Jeanna. Tiffany gave her a quizzical look. "A sixteen-year-old is something I was about eight years ago, and it's someone who wouldn't be allowed in here. So you don't have to treat me like one or act like one."

"I'm not . . ."

"Relax, I was just trying to be funny. Unsuccessfully, I guess. It's pretty obvious you were mad when you left on Saturday, and you barely talked to us at practice last night." Jeanna had to stop for a moment as Tiffany attended to another patron. "At least let me know what you're so mad about. It's not like we were buds before or something, so we never had any reason to tell you we were gay."