Chapter 7
Tonight is the annual special edition of Thursday Night Commotion before Wrestlefest, the biggest event of the year.
I liken Wrestlefest to the Super Bowl of the wrestling world.
All of Elite Wrestling Entertainment, along with hundreds of thousands of fans, descends upon a major city for a week-long celebration, ending with the big show where anything can, and does, happen.
I had the pleasure of experiencing my first Wrestlefest last year from one of the corners backstage with the rest of the NextGen trainees, but this year… I have a front row seat to the action.
This year, I’m making my debut on the main roster during Wrestlefest week, and it’s happening tonight.
Thursday Night Commotion is EWE’s weekly Thursday night event.
The show is televised bi-weekly, but every other week it’s simply a live event without the extra glitz and glam, giving the talent more opportunity to try out new things in front of live crowds; except for the weeks of Wrestlefest and Beachbash, when it’s televised regardless.
Current women’s champion Moxie issued an open title challenge at the beginning of the month, welcoming any woman in all of EWE (NextGen included) to step in the ring and give it their best shot.
Defeat her and you could be walking into Wrestlefest as champion to face Fortuna, also known as Viviana Ridley.
My system has been on edge since Talent Relations and Creative pulled me into a meeting last month and disclosed the plan.
I told myself not to get too excited because things change all the time around here.
They could decide to postpone my debut at the very last minute and throw someone else out there to fight Moxie.
I’ve seen matches change or get cut moments before they were supposed to take place on more than one occasion.
The uncertainty of it all will keep you on your toes.
But it’s still hard not to be excited, and a little nervous.
The only thing that has helped keep my nerves (somewhat) at bay is knowing Moxie would be by my side.
She has become someone I look up to in the company, and besides Rae, who was called up two months ago, she’s the only other woman I’ve gotten close to backstage.
Like so many of those in EWE, Moxie—known to the government as Cassandra Tate—has allowed her stage name to become her go-to identifier and thank the Lord for it.
Can you imagine having to remember two different names for the number of people who work for this company?
Despite being backstage a handful of times at some of the bigger shows—like Wreck the Halls, Mayhem, Fall Brawl, and Beachbash—I haven’t seen John since he helped us work on promos.
And why would I? From the moment Brooks Taylor made his grand return post-injury last year at the Monday Night Rage after Wrestlefest, he’s been thrown to the wolves.
No, I take that back. I ran into him once.
It was Beachbash last year, the mini version of Wrestlefest held at the end of the summer every year.
I was mid-conversation with Moxie and Jo Valence—one of the backstage interviewers—when I saw John and Brody approach from the corner of my eye.
His eyes brightened when I met his gaze down the hall, and his hand swallowed mine, not letting go immediately like he had with my counterparts.
A brief, fleeting moment, but it was enough to make the two women question how I knew the Brooks Taylor.
“We met at the training center,” I said, a simple shrug paired with a nonchalant smile. I wanted to get off the topic as quickly as possible.
Raelynn is the only person I finally opened up to about John, not even Bennett knows, and she agrees it’s best to keep it quiet.
Some people here, as nice as they seem, are plenty ready to stab you in the back if it means taking your place or gaining favor with the suits.
They could take something as innocent as an accidental meeting in a bar and twist it into something much worse.
“You ready?” Juliet asks, leading me through the maze backstage.
Over the past year, she has imparted a lot of knowledge about EWE and wrestling.
She used to let me stay as late as I wanted, or come in early, and was always there to help guide me or answer questions.
I don’t know how I would’ve made it without her.
Juliet’s arm comes to rest around my shoulders, giving me a comforting squeeze, but it does nothing to calm my nerves.
Nausea builds in my throat, and my stomach has been in ever-growing knots from the moment I opened my eyes this morning, but I do my best to push it all down.
I remind myself of the words I spoke to my reflection this morning: It’s no different than working a show at NextGen.
Except it is.
This is way different.
This is it. The main roster, and somehow, I was chosen to make my debut against the women’s fucking champion.
I don’t say any of that, simply mustering up the best smile I can, and nod at the woman who has become my mentor. “Sure, if you consider ‘being ready’ feeling like I can’t breathe and want to throw up all at the same time.”
“Sweetie, if that’s all, then you’re doing great.
” Juliet laughs and guides me through the black drapes that lead into gorilla.
This is where you’ll find the producers and writers during the show, alongside Amos Rafferty, the man behind the whole operation, and typically his children, who work in the company, Chelsea and Theo.
Gorilla is the in-between of backstage and the talent entrance to the arena.
The lights are dimmed, but the room is lit up by the multitude of monitors that showcase different angles of the ring and arena.
And in the corner: none other than Amos.
A pair of black-rimmed glasses sits on the edge of his nose, a headset rests over his ears, and his intense stare is on the monitor in front of him.
Chelsea, beside him, pushes long red hair off her shoulder and leans forward to whisper in her brother’s ear.
They laugh to themselves before the Darling of Wrestling sits back in her chair with a satisfied smirk.
Before I can look away, their father glances my way and offers a thumbs-up.
The gesture only makes the nausea creep further up my throat.
“So, who is it going to be tonight?” Moxie asks, her voice echoing over the speakers on the other side of the wall.
The screen hung in the corner shows her in the center of the ring, focused on the ramp.
“Who thinks they can come out here and take this title from me?” She lifts the title high above her head.
Juliet takes hold of my wrist, dragging me further through the camp toward another set of drapes, leading to the timekeeper’s area. “Hoodie,” she says, motioning for me to hand over my jacket.
Unzipping the black jacket, I stare down at my ring gear made specifically for tonight.
It’s a nicer version of what I’ve been wearing at NextGen, but still, it reminds me of a sexy cheerleader outfit, albeit less trashy than one you’d find at a Halloween store.
Honestly, I could get behind the top. It reminds me of one of my old cheer uniforms, sporting a keyhole cut in the center of a warm pink-and-white checkered pattern with solid baby pink on the sides.
However, it’s the rhinestones scattered throughout the pink sections and the shorter-than-short, hot-pink pleated mini skirt that drives me crazy.
I get it, they want us to look sexy, but do I have to be one step away from fulfilling some weird fetish?
Despite my hard work to get away from the nicknames I was given on the first day I walked in—Barbie and Pom-Poms ring a bell?
—I haven’t been able to shake them. The brilliant idea Creative had when the discussion of my advance began was to continue the cheerleader gimmick.
Very original, but as a rookie, I don’t have much room for argument.
I’m just happy they think I’m ready. They could’ve told me I’d be dressing up like a clown, and I would’ve asked, Rainbow hair or burnt orange?
At least I have a lot of experience with the type of character they want me to play: the bubbly airhead with lots of energy and pep in her step. And just like Crew said when I told him about it, if I do what they want for now, I can show them why it needs to change.
Juliet offers me one final smile before she disappears back through the curtains. The production aide hands me a microphone, and I swallow down the bile coating the back of my throat. My stomach twists even tighter when the older man gives me a subtle nod.
“I guess nobody thinks they can beat—” Moxie’s words are cut short by a catchy, upbeat, pulsing opening to a pop song. Again, not my first choice, but it matches the character.
Air rushes through my lungs, filling every nook and cranny it can find as my chest expands, until I release it and take my first step over the threshold.
I swear I feel the physical transformation from Savannah Williams to “The Hellcat” Savvy Skye occur.
It’s a strange sensation, almost like walking through a thin veil between backstage and the crowd-filled arena where we are meant to be these larger-than-life characters.
The roar of the crowd is louder than anything I’ve ever experienced at NextGen.
Our showroom holds two hundred people max, and this is at least one hundred times that.
It takes my breath away and allows the nerves to dig through my mental block, but I shut them out.
The response surprises me. I expected a quiet welcome; instead, the fans dance and sing along to my music, and most of those sitting along the ramp barricade reach out toward me.
It’s a surreal feeling, one that will be embedded in my brain for the rest of my life.
It’s a high that I never want to come down from.