Chapter 7 #5
“I have a question.” Caleb winds the drawstring of his hoodie around his index finger. “Why are you here?” He winces. “I mean, why haven’t you been called up to the main roster yet? That match was badass.”
“Oh, honey.” Ava does a flourish. Always a flair for the dramatic. “I know I’m amazing. Kennedy Prichard knows it too.”
“Then why are you still here?”
“Well”—Ava shares a glance with Asher, who shrugs as if to say, It’s your funeral—“it’s not just me, really. Many of us are stuck here because Kennedy Prichard doesn’t believe we have a place on the main roster.”
“I don’t understand.”
Exhaling, Ava gracefully falls back into a swivel chair, legs curling up beneath them. They produce a sandwich from their pocket and remove a Post-it Note stuck to the cling wrap with EAT IT AND WEEP scribbled on it in big block letters. “What do you know about Darren Young?”
“Who?”
“Exactly,” Asher says.
Ava frowns thoughtfully around a mouthful of turkey. “Darren Young was the first professional wrestler to ever come out while signed to GEW. The company even put out a statement in support of him.”
“Then, why have I never heard of him?”
“He was let go a couple months later.”
“Budget cuts,” Asher explains, fingers bent in air quotes.
“That sucks,” says Caleb.
“It does,” Ava agrees, “and Darren isn’t the only one who gets treated unfairly.
” They put an index finger up. “One: Kennedy Prichard continues to treat female wrestlers as eye candy with zero talent. Complete and utter disrespect. They exist just to pander to the male gaze. If you aren’t skinny and beautiful?
” Ava waves. “Goodbye! Also, good luck trying to book a match that lasts longer than a toilet break.”
Another finger goes up. “Two: Plus-size wrestlers get offensive gimmicks and storylines. Just because Paisley’s a bit fat doesn’t mean she should get mocked over it for weeks on end. That’s not entertainment; it’s bullying, a cheap shot, and lazy writing. Paisley’s so much more than that.”
“And then there are queer wrestlers,” Asher supplies. “Sure, slurs have been banned, but that’s only because Prichard wants to keep shows PG for his wallet. Creative continues to use queerness as a point of mockery during promos. Either that or a comedy act to be laughed at.”
Ava, who has moved on to a second sandwich and is plowing through it like they’re trying to vicariously eat the chairman alive, puts down a fourth finger and adds, “Oh, and don’t even get me started on trans athletes. Prichard almost had a coronary the last time we were in the same room.”
“And if you’re a combination of any of the above? You’re done,” Asher sing-songs.
“If you hate him so much, why do you stay?” Caleb counters.
For a second, the question silences Asher.
He knows the why of it, but it is a whole other thing to say it out loud, to bare his heart like this.
He takes a breath. “If we all give up, the industry will never change. It’s hard, but someone’s got to do it.
Maybe it could be us.” He shrugs. “Surely, it can’t be that difficult. ”
He glances up at Caleb, and the look on his face shifts from curiosity to something Asher still can’t name.
Ava looks back and forth between them. A churning in Asher’s gut tells him he’s about to be bombarded with a flurry of observations tonight.
As they sit back and watch a couple more matches through the glass, the conversation meanders into locker room hijinks and shenanigans.
Asher tells Caleb about Big Rob’s fear of pickles while Ava recounts the mystery of Roux’s missing eyebrows.
He lets Caleb into his world, and although it could very well come back to bite him in the ass, it feels right.
For the most part, Caleb is quiet but listens intently. A bemused look occasionally slips past his carefully schooled features. His eyes brighten, and the well between his brows soften. It’s a good look, Asher thinks.
“How’s that creative block going?” Asher asks. “Feeling inspired?”
A dimple appears in the corner of Caleb’s mouth. “Very.”
Toward the end of the show, Ava’s phone lights up. “I’ve gotta go. Debrief time,” they say, glancing at the screen once more before they pocket it. They pull Asher in for a hug and plant a kiss on his cheek.
“Send my love to the locker room. And remind Harley she owes me cookies from Gideon’s.”
“Tell them yourself. We miss you.” Ava sticks out their tongue. “And you.” Ava turns their attention to Caleb. “Was this worth it? Skipping training?”
“Meh,” Caleb says with a shrug, but Asher doesn’t miss the betraying twitch of his lips.
Already halfway out the door, Ava good-naturedly throws up a middle finger. “Asshole,” they call over their shoulder. “No wonder everyone hates you.”
Grinning, Asher shakes his head. A soft laugh begins bubbling up, but it gets stuck in the back of his throat when he looks over and catches the hurt look fighting its way across Caleb’s face.
Caleb remains silent, eyes downcast, lower lip pulled back between his teeth.
The furrow between his brows is back with a vengeance. It’s the realest look he’s had all day.