Arena Ch. 02

"Well, I misspoke. We'll capture the immersion in one day. There'll be times you will need to come here for various other reasons. But those shouldn't take that long, and there shouldn't be very many of them. It isn't like you have to spend a lot of time learning your lines, after all. You say what you want to say. Anyway, for the entire thing, up to and including the immersion, we have budgeted fifty thousand dollars each."

"I must be missing something here," Sierra says. "I'm supposed to show up, spend a few minutes fucking some guy, you record it, and for that you pay me fifty thousand dollars?"

"That's it in a nutshell, but remember, it's the first one to submit. You strike me as too much of a competitor to simply take a quick fuck and then submit, to admit you can't go on and have been bested in a contest. At least we're hoping you are."

This isn't what Charlie expected from Sierra, but then, she didn't get what she expected from any of the other women she brought in either. Maybe Naomi's the person they need after all. At least she seemed to relish the challenge, even if she did think Naomi thought it was all just a game. Sierra stares a Charlie for a long moment, clearly thinking it over. Charlie waits, letting her work it through.

"Before I say yes, let me experience your current immersion. I have to admit, the idea has a certain appeal. I like to do new things, things that most people never do. Grab life by the horns and choke the shit out of it, you know? Being in a gladiatorial game where the only thing that gets hurt is some dude's pride... I kind of like that idea. As much as I like extreme sports, being hacked to death with a sword doesn't hold a lot of appeal for me."

Charlie laughs. "And now you know why I'm not doing this immersion. The kind of guy we're looking for, one that looks the part, the type of guy that would rather die than give up, could hurt me... and I'm not really into that whole rough sex thing. We need someone who can stand toe to toe with that kind of guy and give as good as she gets. I think that's you."

Sierra looks at Charlie for a long time before standing abruptly. "Let me think about it. I'll let you know something by middle of next week, if that's okay."

Charlie stands as Sierra does, the interview clearly over. "That'll be fine, but sooner is better than later. If you accept, we still need to find a compatible man, and if you don't accept, I need to get in touch with my alternate choice."

"Alternate choice?" Sierra ask as Charlie escorts her to the lobby.

"There was another woman, one that we'll probably go with if you don't accept. Personally, from what I've seen and read about you, plus our talk today, I think you're the right choice. We'll have some tests first, of course, to see if you can become a gladiator, and not just pretend to be one, but I have a feeling that you're a gladiator already, whether you admit it or not."

Once again Sierra stares hard at Charlie, wondering why she would say that, before holding out her hand. Just because she didn't like taking a bunch of shit off people doesn't mean she wants to run them through with a sword.

"Nice speaking with you Charlie. I'll be in touch."

After Charlie shakes her hand Sierra pulls on her helmet, dons her sunglasses and gloves, and then zips her leathers. Taking her position astride the bike she thumbs the Ducati 212 to life and, after kicking it out of the parking space, proceeds to ride a wheelie the entire length of the parking lot.

Charlie watches her go until she turns onto the main street, then gives her fist a little pump in victory. She has her gladiator, even if Sierra doesn't know it yet. When she returns to her office she finds Rick waiting on her, neatly turned out in his tennis outfit.

"So, how'd it go?" he asks.

"We got her. She's playing it cool, but by the time she left, she had that look in her eyes. I expect to hear from her no later than the middle of next week," she says, her excitement evident in her voice. "Sierra is going to kick some serious ass. I pity the man we put up against her."

"Are you sure she's right for the part?" he asks, his voice hesitant. "She's pretty enough in the face, but she, well, she's built like a guy." He looks at his feet, clearly embarrassed.

She rolls her eyes. "Obviously, Rick, you have no idea how a tight leather suit affects a woman's physique. I suspect out of her leathers she'll be Giselle scaled up twenty-five percent, perhaps a little thinner in the hips. Trust me, she'll be fine. The fact that you could tell she's a woman in that monkey suit says a lot." She pauses, then smirks at him. "Jesus, you and Todd. All you two think about are women's tits."

"Two of the best things in life," he replies flippantly, trying to cover his embarrassment for bringing the subject up. "I have to go. I was on my way out when I saw you talking to her outside. I wanted to see what you thought before I left."

"I think," she says slowly, a smile teasing her lips, "That we need to get busy on finding our male co-star."

Sierra guns the Italian super bike through traffic, using its massive power-to-weight ratio to dip and weave, carving the traffic with skill. Though not reckless, she's honest enough to admit to herself that she's an adrenaline junky, enjoying the thrill of speed, of danger, of going to new places and discovering new things.

Rolling to a stop at a light, she glances coolly at the man in the car beside her as he looks over her blood red bike, then herself. The man, handsome enough if you like the slightly sleazy look, smiles at her, displaying perfect teeth gleaming in his carefully tanned face. With her full face helmet and tinted visor he can't see her roll her eyes as she looks away.

They are first at the lights, and as the cross traffic colors blink from green to yellow, the man revs the engine in his antique Corvette, the V8 growling, trying for her attention. She settles down into the seat to move her weight forward on the bike. When the light switches to green the man launches hard, the car straining as the engine bellows its war song. She allows the car to pull ahead, giving the man a taste of victory, before whacking the throttle open on the bike and pulling up on the handle bars. The front wheel leaves the ground as she rockets past his door, a wheelie she holds until nearly eighty miles per hour, before dropping down on both wheels and slowing to match speed with the traffic.

As she rolls to a stop at the next set of lights, Sierra is humming the chorus from the old Queen's song, Another One Bites the Dust. The man stops beside her again, the smile replaced by a sheepishness as he refuses to look at her. She smiles. It was just a stop light drag race, and he never stood a chance, but that doesn't make the victory any less sweet.

Rick thought he had plenty of time to get to Giselle's office when he left, but he'd misjudged the time it would take, arriving only a couple of minutes early. He pulls into the nearest visitor's spot and is exiting the car when Giselle comes out, trotting down the three steps to the parking lot. He crosses in front of the car to her door, waiting until she passes before opening it. During the drive, when he still thought he had plenty of time, he'd stopped and purchased her a single red rose, which he presents to her before reaching for the door handle. She takes the rose and then kisses him lustily. He forgets the door for a moment as he returns the kiss.

"That's some welcome," he says, Giselle backing away as he opens the door.

"In case anyone is watching," she says, sliding gracefully into the car.

He shuts her door and then walks around the car, forcing himself to not look around, and slides in on his own side. "So, no motel then? For a moment there I had a little hope."

She giggles. "No, but we're going to have to do that sometime. I had a hard time... focusing... today for thinking about it."

"So where to for lunch?" he asks, blipping the throttle so the V12 rumbles and growls. If she's going to play to her audience, he can play to his.

"Out to the main road and then take a right," she instructs, motioning with her hand. He pulls out on the road, accelerating aggressively, causing the car to howl away out of the parking lot. "God I love this car," she says as he lifts off the throttle.

"And all this time I thought you married me for my money," he teases.

"It wasn't this car or your money that I married you for," she purrs, stroking his thigh. "Up here at the light, make a left. Then about halfway down the block, on the left, is Sallie's. That's where we're going."

He follows her directions, but as he pulls into Sallie's parking lot he looks at her. "Here?" he asks dubiously. The parking lot is nearly full, but the place looks like it hasn't seen a paint brush, or soap and water, in fifty years.

"I know how it looks, but it has the best sandwiches around."

"This looks like some place I'd eat, not you."

"Hey! I have low tastes too!"

"Well, I guess that's true. You married me after all." She's still giggling when he lets her out in front of the door. "I'll park the car and be right in," he calls through the open door.

He finds an open spot on the end and backs in, crowding the curb on the passenger side. Rick enters the restaurant to find her talking with a couple of well-dressed men, probably in their mid- to late-thirties.

"Rick, this is Randall Lakes and Tom Bibell. They work at the firm. Randall, Tom, this is my husband, Rick Chamfer."

Rick shakes their hands firmly as Tom stares at him with wide-eyed enthusiasm. "Is that your Jag you drove up in?"

"It's an Aston Martin, a 2010 Aston Martin DBS actually, but yes. You know what they say about men and their toys."

"Do you mind if I take a look at it?"

Rick really didn't mind, but he didn't want to spend his lunch with some car nut drooling over his Aston. He's saved from an embarrassing situation when the hostess arrives to seat Tom and Randall.

"I'll be dropping Giselle off back at the office later, if you want to take a peek then. How's that sound?" Rick offers.

"That would be great! Thank you very much. You two enjoy your lunch!" Tom says as he follows Randall and the hostess.

Rick smiles at Giselle. "I think you need to drive back."

"I think I will," she replies with a huge grin.

He spends the next two minutes browsing the menu tacked to the wall behind a piece of glass. He's narrowed his selection down to the Italian Grinder or the Reuben when the hostess takes them to their seat, a booth for three stuck in the corner. Giselle sits on the single side, where the sunlight pouring through the glass makes her hair flame.

"Mmm..." she sighs in the sunlight as a shiver passes through her. "The sun feels good. It's always so cold in my office."

"What's good?" he asks.

"Everything. The cheesesteak is good, the grinder is good. I think you should try the sweet lady," she suggests.

He finds the sandwich on the menu. "Turkey with apricot jam?" he asks, making a face.

"It's really good. I think I'll have that and you can have a bite of mine."

"Okay," he says, his tone telegraphing his reservation.

The waiter, a fresh-faced kid that looks no older than twelve, arrives to take their order. "May I get your drink orders? And your lunch, if you're ready?" he asks, looking to Giselle first.

Rick silently approves of his 'ladies first' approach.

"Yes. I'll have the sweet lady, hold the chips, and a large order of your onion rings. Water to drink." Giselle looks to Rick. "We'll share the rings. They're to die for."

"And you, sir?" the waiter—Jac, according to his name tag—asks.

"I'll have the Italian Grinder, please, and make it hot. Water to drink."

"Very good. That's my favorite sandwich here. Would you like the chips with your sandwich?"

"Sure, why not."

"Thank you. Your order will be right out."

"So, how was it in the shark tank this morning?" Rick asks.

"Not as bad as I thought. There was some staring, but nothing obvious. April stopped by and we talked about it a little while."

"April?"

"Payroll. She is kind of like the mother of the whole place. Even the partners don't give her a lot of crap."

"What'd she have to say?"

"Not a lot. Just don't let it get to me, yadda, yadda, yadda."

"Did she experience the immersion?"

"She said she hadn't, but she did look at me kind of funny. I suspect there is more to that carefully-crafted mother image than meets the eye."

"What about the lusty twins, whatever it was you called them?"

Before she can answer, Jac is back with two waters, a lemon slice stuck on the rim, and a lunch sack with greasy spots appearing on the side. "Two waters," he says placing the glasses and bag on the table, "And a large ring. They were just coming up, so I grabbed them while they were hot. Your sandwiches will be out in a moment."

"What I really want to know is, who are you and what have you done with my wife?" Rick asks in a conspiratorial whisper after Jac is gone.

"What do you mean?"

"This place. I'd have never picked this as a place you'd eat, my wife of the discerning palate," he says with a smile. "These are the kinds of places I like to eat."

"What? I can't like beer-battered onion rings and greasy sandwiches too?"

"No. It's not that you can't, I just never thought you did."

She begins tearing the bag open. "Did you ever ask?"

He notices that the onion rings smell wonderful. "No, I guess I never did," he admits, picking up an onion ring, juggling it before dropping it quickly back in the bag. "Hot is right!" he says, wiping his fingers on a paper napkin.

"I am woman of great depth and mystery," she says, blowing on an onion ring to cool it before taking a bite out of it.

"That you are," he admits as Jac appears again, sandwiches in hand.

"Sweet Lady," Jac says, placing a plastic tray in front of Giselle, "hold the chips. And the Italian Grinder, hot, for you sir. I'll be back to refill your drinks. Anything else I can get for you?" he asks looking from one to another.

"No, I think we're good Jac," Rick says. "Thank you."

"Very good," he says before hurrying away. He's back moments later to refill their glasses and to leave a short stack of paper towels and two single-use moist towelettes. "For the rings," he explains as he places the towelettes on the edge of the table.

"The lusty twins?" Rick asks again when Jac is out of hearing range.

"Oh yeah. That's the best part of it all. Where before they seemed to go out of their way to talk about what great lays their boyfriends are, I haven't heard one word out of them today. Not one."

"So something good came out of it after all."

She giggles around a mouthful of sandwich. "I guess it did. Tom stopped by, the Tom you just met. He hasn't said all that much to me before now, but he stopped in this morning nearly first thing. He was very candid, said I was a lucky woman to have found someone that loves me as much as you do. Told me he hoped he could find someone he could love like that one day. I thought that was sweet."

"As I told you last night, your real friends may turn up in the most unexpected places."

"I don't know what I expected, really. Snickers and points, I guess. But it hasn't been that bad. Just a lot of people that seemingly are paying more attention to me than normal."

"And why wouldn't they? Suddenly they don't see Giselle Chamfer, lawyer, they see Giselle Chamfer, woman whose husband is desperately in love with her. For the women, anyway. For the men, it's Giselle Chamfer, the hottest woman on planet earth, a woman who can rock a man's world like no other, and said man is so totally in love her he can't imagine life without her. And, to top it all, he gets to go home to her each and every night."

Giselle stares at Rick for a moment. "Laying it on a bit thick aren't you?"

"Which part?" he asks innocently, causing her to giggle.

They finish their lunch while chatting about her experience during the morning. He's so relieved that it didn't get ugly that he feels nearly giddy. Adding to that, he's impressed with the quality of the food, admitting that the onion rings are as good as, or better than, any he's ever had. His sandwich also ranks near the top of those he's ever tried, with an interesting vinegar and oil dressing, lightly applied, that seems to bring the rest of the flavors of the sandwich alive. Even Giselle's sandwich, which he grudgingly tries, he has to admit, is much better than he expected. Jac, the waiter, pulls off the difficult task of being there just before he's needed, filling their glasses, but invisible otherwise. Rick's very impressed with his quiet efficiency and tips him accordingly, leaving forty dollars on a twenty-seven-dollar tab.

"Wow! Big tipper," she says as they rise to go.

"Good work should be rewarded. I want to come back here again sometime," he says as he steers her in the direction of the car.

She climbs in the Aston and pulls it out so he can slide in before oozing the car through the parking lot. They pass the door just as Tom, Randall, and a third person that Rick didn't know, step from the restaurant, Giselle waggling her fingers at them as they watch her roll past. Pulling into the road, she dips her toe deep into the throttle. The car wails up through the rev range before she lifts, the car burbling as she slows for the light. She looks at Rick, who's smiling out of the side window.

"What?" she asks.

"You. In this car. I was just wondering how Tom's going to explain that wet spot in the front of his pants when he gets back to the office," he says, still smiling out the side window.

She giggles. "I told you. I've been taking lessons from Charlie."

"Ohhh... she's good then. She's very good," he says with a chuckle.

Five minutes later, as she's pulling into the Richards, Beckel & Lively parking lot, three men and a woman are waiting near the visitors' parking spots. "Uh, oh. Looks like we've got company," she says, wheeling the car into a parking space. "The older guy, that's Ted Beckel, one of the partners," she murmurs. "He wasn't there yesterday."

"Gotcha," he acknowledges as they exit the car.

"Tom pinged back to the office and told us petrolheads that we need to get down here and see what you were driving up in," Ted says to Giselle. "I'm Ted Beckel, by the way," he says extending his hand to Rick.

"Nice to meet you Ted," Rick says, taking the offered hand. "Rick Chamfer, Giselle's husband."

"Rick," Giselle says, walking up. "You can stay and talk cars if you want, but I've got work to do. Thanks for lunch, and I'll see you at home later," she says before pulling him to her for a kiss. It isn't as passionate as the before lunch kiss, but it's certainly more than a peck on the lips.

As he watches her walk away he becomes aware of someone talking to him. "What? I'm sorry, were you saying?"

Ted laughs good naturedly at Rick's embarrassment. "You're a lucky man, Rick. I said it's a beautiful car. How long have you owned it?"

Rick spends the next thirty minutes talking about the car, letting people sit in it, and revving the engine. During that time a few leave and a half dozen more arrive, including two women... leaving him to wonder if they're the lusty twins. By the time he gets away he's completely lost track of everyone's name, with the exception of Tom what's-his-name and Ted Beckel. He also rather feels like a prize bull on display, but then, he supposes, that was exactly what he is for Giselle today.

When Rick arrives back at Immersion Playground, Todd is there, back from his trip to the clothing supplier. "Get the tunics sorted out?" he asks by way of greeting, sitting down in Todd's office.