Nina's Painful Weekend in NY

Feeling numb, I watched Tina sit on Nina's back, gripping her chin with both hands, and rocking backward. Nina's neck and upper back were pulled backward. Her face wore a tortured expression. Somebody needs to do something, I thought. Nina waved her arms as if she were signaling her surrender. "Give up?" Tina asked, loosening her hands just enough to allow Nina to temporarily speak.

"Yes, I give up," Nina answered in a strangled voice. "Please let go."

Tina let Nina's face fall to the carpet. For a few moments, she kept her perch on the defeated woman's back, flexing her biceps in a series of poses. I could hear applause from the invisible male audience. Tina seemed to be lapping it up, seductively cupping her bare breasts, flashing a sexy smile for men she couldn't see. I now thought I hated this woman. I felt terrible for Nina, but at least she would be paid $10,000. Or so I thought.

Tina pranced around topless in front of the camera for another minute while two more bikini-clad bimbos helped Nina from the room. Infuriated, I summoned Lulu.

"Would you like a drink?" she asked.

"No," I said. "Tell Mr. Martin I want to get out of here...NOW!"

I never saw Martin again, but fifteen minutes later, Bunny, or Dolly, unlocked my door and escorted me down a hallway where I encountered Tina leaving her dressing room in her bathrobe.

"I hope you are proud of yourself," I sneered.

Tina, apparently oblivious to my scorn, beamed a strangely radiant smile. "Oh Edie," she bubbled, "you and Nina don't need to wait for me when you return to the room. First, I have to see David Martin. He's going to give me the money. And guess what?" she gushed. "David said that a movie producer who is here tonight saw my match. And guess WHAT!" She squealed like a schoolgirl; her almond-shaped eyes were wider than I'd ever seen them. "He wants to talk to me about a part in his next film. Can you BELIEVE IT!...Ok, I gotta run now....I'll catch up to you later...I'll tell you all about it. Oh my God, I'm shaking! I'm so excited!" With those words, she turned and left, entering a room from which I was sure I would be banned.

Finally, I was taken to Nina's room. She stood expressionless in her bathrobe. I hugged her, grabbed her by the hand, and quickly whisked her out of the apartment and back to the penthouse Martin provided for us. We spoke very little. What do you say to someone after a spectacle like that? I helped her wash, cleaned her scratches, and assisted her to bed. I wanted to go home. I didn't want to see that crazy Tina again. We still had Sunday left. To say our weekend was ruined would have been a massive understatement. With Nina asleep, I sat in the living room area with a million thoughts running through my mind until I dozed off.

I awoke in a recliner chair at 6 am. Nina was still asleep. I saw no sign of Tina. I guessed she was still whooping it up with those Hollywood big shots, but deep inside, I was worried. An hour later, the door opened. It was Tina, wearing her bathrobe but with her face turned away from me as if in shame.

"We're having quite a weekend in New York City, aren't we," I said sarcastically. "So tell me," I continued. "Are you famous yet? Did you get the big contract? Will Mr. Producer make you a star? Are we talking Oscar material?"

She turned her face slightly toward me. I could see her pretty eyes were bloodshot. A tear trickled down her tanned face. "I don't want to talk about it," she sniffed. Sobbing, she entered another one of the bedrooms, slamming the door behind her.

Our weekend ended prematurely. I decided to drive home with Nina on Sunday morning, making up an excuse on the pretext she was under the weather. I called my husband and arranged for the men to pick up Tina after the Yankees game.

The relationship between the three of us was never the same. We never sat down together to discuss the incident. I never found out what happened to Tina that night. I presumed she was one of many women used by the producer for one night, then thrown out of bed in the morning. We never told a soul about the actual events that Saturday evening. Tina never gave Nina her share of the winnings as she had promised. When I asked her, she responded, "Why should I split it? They were about to kick us out because of Nina." Instead of a Pontiac Sunbird, Tina, a short while later, was driving a Lincoln Continental. I wondered how she explained the money to her husband. Although there was an awkward coolness between the three of us, our boys remained friends for many years.

So, that's my story of the incident in the summer of 1977. In the attic, I look at the Sports Review Wrestling magazine and wonder if I should throw it in the garbage or sell it on eBay. As far as I know, Nina and Tina's fight never appeared in a magazine. Thank goodness our boys never saw it. Whether or not it was sold on film by mail order, I have no idea. After all, ads for such events are only marketed to kinksters and fetishists. As I lift some cardboard boxes to take downstairs, I stub my toe and nearly trip and fall. I notice that a floorboard is loose with a plank sticking up. That will need to be repaired before we sell the house. I examine the broken plank and notice something is hidden under the floorboards. What is this? A box. I look inside and find reels of 8 mm tapes. I pull up the first one and read the label on the box:

BATTLING HOUSEWIVES

TINA VS NINA

AN EPIC BATTLE BETWEEN TWO FEUDING SEXY MOMS

Shocked, I stare in disbelief. Then I smile. Then I laugh. Then I laugh hysterically.

"Oh, Rick," I sigh.