F2: The Golden Ring

"Hey Ricky."

"Bill."

"Did you see my match?"

I walk past my long time friend without a word and catch the door to Jimmy's office. I step inside and pull it closed behind me in the 'Professors' face.

"Jimmy. Tell me... did you know? About the RoH scout?"

"No. I heard there was one here just a bit ago though," he gets out the pay box. "While you're here let me get you paid. That will be one less thing on my mind to try and remember. Let's see I owe you one seventy five... plus fuel cost for your truck." he hands me the money then looks down as he closes the lock box. "You're driving the trailer back to..."

"Jimmy, I'm not fucking hauling your trailer anywhere! Not one fucking foot," my fingers crumple the bills in my hands. "How many matches have there been since you heard there was a scout here? Four, five? You couldn't have gotten me into one of them somehow?"

"Ricky I..."

"I don't want to hear it Jimmy. I've heard it far to many times already." I turn to go catching the door and slamming it open hard. I see a few of the others standing outside. They scatter out my way.

"Ricky!" Jimmy's voice follows me out into the hall. "Ricky, wait!"

"Wait for what Jimmy?" turning I look down the tunnel of wrestlers to the balding man. "Wait for what? Till I'm forty and ready to retire? Wait till that Finger of God himself bends down here to touch my shoulder? You know Jimmy... this is horse shit!" I turn to walk off then spin back around. "I've hauled this whole damn show around for the last year and a half, shit hole to shit hole! I've set up and torn down night after night and for what? The first damn time we have a big show I don't get time in the ring?"

"I tried Ricky! You know that! I mean damn it I had you set up for the main event."

"Set up? That's a good word for it Jimmy. Carrot and the fucking stick. YOU FUCKING PLAYED ME!" I take a step towards him and feel two guys hands come to rest on my arms. I look to them then back at Jimmy. "I'm sick of your... Vince McMahon, WWE want-to-be fucking crap, Jimmy. This is the type of shit he would pull with his people."

Shaking my head I turn to walk away.

"I DON"T WANT TO BE WWE!"

I stop and look back at Jimmy.

"Never have," he tells me with a disgusted look. "I would rather be ECW any day of the week."

I hear a few mummers of "right on". My smoldering eyes are locked on Jimmy and his on me. I can see he's angry now as well.

Well... good!

"ECW huh? Bankrupt and bought out... well you're half way there already." I spin to leave again this time with no intention of turning back around. I see Erica's standing by on the water fountains up ahead her mouth an open 'O' of surprise.

"Ricky... RICKY!"

I stop but don't turn back.

"What Jimmy?"

"I didn't play you. I swear." I can hear the honesty sincerity in his voice but at the moment I just don't fucking care. I tell him so.

"Two words, five letters. I Quit."

* * * *

Ever tried to parallel park a diesel truck? Don't.

The money from scalping the extra ticket in my hand I make my way through the huge crowd. My eyes get quickly pulled to the beautiful souvenir belts hanging behind the perfectly stacked piles of t-shirts. I look at the credit cards being swiped, the money being handed over. Part of me want to buy one of those beautiful belts but I realize even as the desire hits me I don't want to buy one.

I want to earn it. I want the change to earn it. That's all I want. I want that change so badly it hurts.

Leaving the expensive souvenirs behind I head into the packed arena.

As I'm finding my seat I don't even know why I came tonight. Right at this moment wrestling and me are not on good terms. I could have sold the other ticket I had. That money would have been a lot more use to me than the memories of being here alone will.

The house lights dim then turn green.

"TIME TO PLAY THE GAME!"

Depression forgotten I come to my feet to try and see Triple H as he walks out the back and down to the ring. He's in a business suit now. The days of him spitting bottled water are said to be over. I grin thinking that I wish I could get someone to bet me money on that one.

As he gives his promo I come to realize something. I'm not here alone. I'm surrounded by people that, while I don't know their names, I know them. I know them because they are just like me. Hooked on this crazy messed up, made up, scripted to death, pipe dream that is professional wrestling.

Of course Triple H is interrupted. And of course the wrestler that interrupted him gets also interrupted.

By the time the first match starts, a simple mid-card match but what I wouldn't give to be down there, I'm starting to feel that... well that 'something' that took a hold of me when I was just a kid. Memories come then of watching old Gordon Solis, and 'Mean' Gene calling a match between the Road Warriors and whoever they were feuding with that week.

Memories of my dad, pulling in his truck late on Saturday morning. Us all piling into the family car and heading down to the old Boutwell Auditorium to watch 'Bullet' Bob and 'WildFire' Tommy Rich. Cheering the 'heels' sometime more than the 'faces'. Dad loved the bad guys.

Hell so do I, come to think about it. So why am I a baby face?

Because dad wanted me to be.

Suddenly missing him all over again I swallow the lump in my throat and let my eyes wander to the signs people are holding up around me. Taking in the crowd. All the people that have ever watched me wrestle wouldn't fill this one arena. The years of my life that I have spent in the ring and for what? I have all the same pains that those two down there have, all the same scars, but not the fame. I look down at the squared circle, the ring, the 'Golden Ring' in fact for every indie wrestler. The big time.

The big time?

I watch match after match with a sense of disappointment slowly growing. The huge spectacle of it all is impressive as hell, but the words of my trainers keep coming back to me, over and over, as I watch. It's not about bombast, it's about controlling the crowd. If a wrestler can read the crowd he doesn't even need to have music. Just walk out the curtain at the right time and you own them. None of these guys seem to have that. I can 'hear' the hand of a writers in every word they say. See it in every 'blow' they land. Watch it in every bump they take.

Then it happens.

The pyros go off, the lights dim, the bells ring. As blue lights and fog start to roll down the ramp I stand and cheer with all the others. I can't help it. I do this for a living and I'm just as pumped up by a man in a long black coat as all the rest. I watch his slow walk to the ring. I've see it in person twice now, and both times I've gotten chills. I rub at my arms to settles the goose bumps as he mounts the stairs holding his jacket out the way.

The Undertaker.

What a name. The Dead Man, hell even his nickname beats mine. I watch the lights come back up at his command. He takes the mic and talks. That's all. He didn't come here to wrestle tonight, just to talk. Yet the whole focus of the arena is on him, on this one man. A wrestler.

A wrestler... like me.

I feel myself shy away from even the thought that I just compared myself to 'The Phenom' and yet... why not. I mean sure I don't have his size and build but I'm quick in the ring. Hell quicker than he was ,even at his best. A feeling that I'm blaspheming comes over me then. I have to chuckle as I realize just how strong they have sold this one gimmick. Even I, who know how the whole trick works, still gets sucked into it.

I watch him leaving in that same stately march up the ramp. His back turned, he looks over his shoulder and raises his arm in salute.

The crowd goes insane.

He can read the crowd.

Watching the rest of the event, even cheering it at times, I come to realize that my heart isn't in it any more. I getup and leave well before the last match. I don't have to watch it to know who was going to win.

The long walk back to where I parked the truck passes in seconds to me, my mind tumbling things over and over in my head. I'm fishing my keys out my pocket when I see that the interior lights are on in the cab. Then I'm looking for a weapon, anything to use to beat the head in of whoever is in my truck. When the door opens and I see Erica hop out I stop. Just standing there in the middle of the street.

"What are you do...?" I start to ask.

"I told them to keep me in mind, but no thanks for right now," she says with a shrug. "I've got a sick friend I have to nurse back to heath."

I slowly smile as she takes out a sucker and unwraps it. When she pops it in her mouth and smiles I start to shake my head.

"Are you crazy? That could have been your big shot."

Erica, walks over to me slowly and slides into my arms.

"I've been there before, maybe it's not what I'm wanting," she leans her head into my chest a bit more. "I got to thinking about how miserable I was when I was working with Shimmer. Constantly trying to get noticed. I've had more fun in the last year than I can remember in my whole time in the ring. You know why?"

I have to shake my head.

"Because of you,"she looks up at me and smiles. "What's the fun of doing something spectacularly sexy if you don't have someone to be showing off for."

Leaning in I find her lips in the growing dark, I have to stop and pull her sucker out the way, and then kiss her candy tasting mouth. She runs her hand up my back and spine her fingers under my shirt.

A car pull up right behind us.

"Hey you twos...get a room already." says a heavily accented voice from behind us. Looking over my shoulder I hear Erica gasp. "I've got turned around, which way to the airport?"

"That way, up the ramp and about four miles." I tell Santino Marella. "Stay to your right you'll see the signs."

He gives me a stiff hand salute and turns the wheel drastically. I watch him almost careening off a lamp post then he shoots up the on ramp.

"I thought all that was just a ring persona he used?" asks Erica leaning into me.

"Some people just don't know when to stop, I guess."

"Do you?" she asks me grinning. "I think he had a good idea. I turned down the sheets and got the AC running."

Smiling down at my little Miss Disaster I tuck her into my hip and walk towards my truck. I grin thinking that if he was still around my dad would kill me if he knew what I have done in his old sleeper.

And what I'm about to do again.

* * * *

My lovely lady is soft and warm against me tonight. No need to rush, no need to hurry, no lot lizard wanting to do contortion requiring positions. Just her and me in the warm dark of the truck sleeper. The bed isn't really meant for two people but most of the time its more than wide enough.

A long slow thrust into her gives me all the pleasure I could stand, in this life. Then when I pull back I feel it almost double. She doesn't let me go far, catching me pulling me back down into her. Long slow strokes that take almost all the breath from us both as we pant together.

"Ricky?"

Somehow I find the air to speak.

"Yeah?" I say in a half gasp.

"Do something for me please," she reaches up to slick my hair back behind my ear. Her eyes are slowly moving across my face. "Be happy."

I chuckle.

"I don't think I could be happier at this moment if I tried." I give her a harder thrust that makes her moan. She brings her hand to my chest and makes me stop.

"Not what I mean."

"Then what do you mean?" I ask holding myself just inside her, my weight on my elbows. My body is laying cushioned down the length of her.

"I want you to be happy... or maybe satisfied would be closer to what I mean. Hush." her finger closes my mouth before I can speak. "Not that kind, you're going to get that kind all night."

"Then what?"

"With us, with this, with the life we have been living. I... I think I'm good with this."

I look down in her face wishing for more light to see it's beauty. The nearby street light is casting only a bit of dim light through the top windows.

"Living in a truck, wrestling for change, watching the big time slip further and further away every year. You're happy with that?" I try not to add tone too it but it's there.

"Happy... not always. Satisfied, yes. I love you. I love this life. Hell I even love this old truck with it's squeaky bed and half working AC. Let me finish,"she says when I go to speak.

I nod.

"Yeah, I want more. I want the big house, my name in the wrestling magazines. I want to turn on the TV and see myself wrestling the other Divas. But till then, till that happens. This will do. So long as you are here," she smiles and gives a thrust back up the length of me. I moan then smile at her grinning face. "The question is though can you be happy, with this?"

I think but a moment. I don't need more, I came to this answer watching the Undertaker.

"Yes. I can be. I want more though at the same time. I want to be the best I can be at whatever level I'm working. If it's indie level that's fine, if it's the big time that's fine, but I'm going to be the best there is."

Erica smiles but I see Miss Disaster grin.

"The best there was!' she drives herself back up on me. "The best there is," again her hot body grips me tight as she pulls down till just the head is in her. "the best there ever will be?"

I thrust into her as hard as I can drive my cock and feel it bottom out in her. She gives a moan that is half pain but all pleasure.

"Bret Hart wore pink tights and had a manager called 'The Mouth," I tell her ginning. "I'm going to be the best there is at what I do," catching her to me I start to thrust harder and harder into her. She moans but then she pulls me tight to her and nibbles by my ear.

"I'm the best there is at what I do? Who do you think you are, Wolverine?" she asks giggling.

"Would you shut up and fuck!" I tell her with a shake of my head.

"Mmmm... yes sir. Now I like that kind of talk from my big, strong, wrestler man." she starts to wiggle her ass under me.

With a snort I give up on sex for this moment and decide that tickling her till she's out of breath sounds like more fun.

* * * *

"Hey Jimmy."

The balding promoter looks up from his balance sheet to me standing there, his face shows he's totally shocked.

"Ricky? Hey. Did you come to see the show?" he asks after a moment of awkward silence.

"I ... I ah... I want to apologize Jimmy. I was having a bad night." I look over and pull in the second seat in the room. The subway tile walls and urine smell has been only marginally improved by the multiple Glade plug-ins Jimmy has put around the room. "I'm sorry Jimmy, for what I said."

Jimmy sits back a bit then turns his paperwork over. A clear sign, to those that know him, that this isn't a business conversation but personal.

"I'm sorry too Rick. I made you a promise, a verbal contract for a big match then I didn't deliver on it. I'm not mad at you for thinking I was playing you either. I got to looking at how much I've been depending on you for the last year or so. I saw that I've been kind of taking you for granted," he sighs. "I didn't realize just how much I've come to depend on your help and that big truck of yours to get my little dog and pony show where it's suppose to be." He looks down at his 'desk' for a second then back up at me. "Are you working?"

I give my head a shake. I know that a call to Mom could maybe get me on with dad's old trucking company but I have no want for that life.

"How about this then I'm up to my double chin with all this paperwork, nothings getting done that needs to be done. Not really anyway. I had been thinking for a while about getting me a partner, but I kind of put that to the back burner because... well lately things had been running smoother. I didn't realize till you left that was mostly because of you. How about we make it legit?"

"What do you mean?" I ask not sure what he's saying, but then that's been a common theme with me and Jimmy when ever he starts talking business.

Jimmy picks up a blank piece of paper from his desk and starts to write. Then he signs it and hands it to me with the pen.

My eyes take in his almost effeminate scrawl.

"Thirty percent of the company?" I ask stunned. "Really?"

"Yep. You sign it, we'll get it notarized and then we can sit down and figure out just what your thirty percent means," he grins at me. "At the moment it means a lot of heartache and hassle to scratch out a living. But..." he holds out his hand to me. "I would like to have your help, if you're willing."

When I reach out my hand to him I know the years of work I'm agreeing too. The struggle to get guys payed, the hassle of getting shows booked. I would have to be mad to want to agree to something like this.

As I shake his hand I'm grinning.

"I've got some ideas."

He smiles and turns back over the balance sheet.

"Do you?" he asks as he start to write.

"Yeah, I was thinking about a Women's division. I also think we need belts."

"Belts? That's for the big time boys."

"Yeah... that's why I think we will be needing them soon." I smile at his raised eyebrows. "Now about the women wrestlers, I know just where to start. We need..."