Chapter 12 Margeaux
MARGEAUX
“Fuck, girl. I thought I had a bad week when I sneezed so hard my tampon flew out of me. But Jesus fuck, you had it so much worse,” Jazz says as we stuff our faces with ice cream in my apartment.
I swallow down a spoonful of black cherry and chocolate chip ice cream. Not paying attention to how much I scoop out, I give myself a horrible brain freeze.
“I’m done talking about it. The only good parts were meeting that kid, Sammy, and those French fries,” I grumble, massaging my forehead to soothe away my brain freeze. I look down and, of course, a glob of ice cream is on my shirt. Ugghhh. Every time!
“Has Dahlia reached out to you about your upcoming matches?” she asks, changing the subject smoothly.
“I have a meeting with her and the match directors tomorrow. I’m not super enthused about it, but I’m hoping they’re understanding. I know I’m not on the program for at least one more week.”
I’m actually dreading this meeting. I’m so worried I’m going to get kicked out of the PEW.
This is all I want to do with my life. I haven’t made a plan for my future if wrestling doesn’t work out.
Will I have to move back home? It’s like I stepped into some weird alternate universe at Paramount and my life was turned upside down.
“I’m sure it will all work out. It was a genius move on your part to post those pictures with that sick boy. Major sympathy points, and it makes you seem like less of the bar-brawling type,” Jazz says she licks her spoon clean.
That’s the second meeting I need to have tomorrow.
Ashleigh manages my social media and she posted those photos of me and Sammy.
She said it was the perfect story to spin the press and gain me some favor with the people of Paramount.
It worked. I still owe the city of Paramount a steep fine, and that Brice Strickland guy is still going to press charges, but I’m hoping an apology works in my favor.
Maybe I can sway him with some tickets to a live PEW match, or something. Ashleigh is dealing with his lawyers.
“So, can we talk about this hot doctor you made out with?” Jazz snaps me out of my thoughts and is staring me down, wiggling her eyebrows.
My cheeks heat and I hide my face in my half-eaten carton of ice cream. “Nothing to tell. Just a random guy. Had a hot make out. Found out he has a bitchy twig for a girlfriend. Classic douchebag guy,” I scoff.
“Ugh! Seriously?! A girlfriend? Why do guys do this?! Fuck him. And by that, I mean forget about him, Mar. There are plenty of single guys here. You know Travis is super interested in you,” she winks at me.
“No. Remember my rule about sleeping with fellow athletes. It’s just going to make things messy,” I say. I also just don’t feel like jumping into bed with anyone new. I’m pissed as fuck at Jon, and I’m glad I’m never going to see him again.
Just thinking about Jon hurts. Not a lot, but enough to make me feel stupid.
I should have known a sweet, good-looking guy like him would be unavailable.
To be fair, I did jump him in the locker room.
It’s not like he initiated the kiss. He didn’t stop it either.
At least not until someone almost caught us. Ugh. I’m so stupid.
“You know Travis can be discreet. He’s not looking for anything serious. He can be a fun palate cleanser,” Jazz says. “Who am I kidding? He is a fun palate cleanser!” she laughs.
I laugh with her, putting my ice cream down on the coffee table, letting the condensation drip off the carton. “Sounds like you’re not done with Travis,” I suggest, tossing a small pillow at her.
“Hmmm…probably not. I mean, the dude is a fucking machine. And I mean it when I say that, Mar. A fucking machine. A machine for fucking.”
“I get it, Jazz. He’s a breathing sex robot,” I roll my eyes at her, suddenly feeling horny and frustrated that I don’t have my own sex robot. At least not a human-sized one.
My thoughts wander, thinking what sex could have been like with Jon.
He’s short, but he has strong hands. And if he fucks like he kisses, he’s probably super passionate, and generous in bed.
I bet he would go down on me for an hour before he even takes his pants off. Fuck, I really need to have an orgasm.
“K. I’m leaving. I just sent Travis a booty call,” Jazz says, pocketing her phone.
“Yea yea. Go have fun. Spare me the details tomorrow at training,” I yell.
“Never! You’re gonna hear about it all, bitch! Love ya! Night!”
I smother my face into the couch cushion and scream all my frustrations into it. Why can’t I get this nerdy doctor off my mind?
The match directors close my file and nod to their office door. Dahlia follows me out and claps her hands down on my shoulders once we’re in the hall.
“Best possible outcome,” she cheers. My shoulders automatically tense and she pulls her hands away.
“Hey. It’s okay. Everyone screws up when they’re young.
You’re twenty-four Mar. The match directors don’t expect you to be perfect.
And it’s like Joe and Dade said, it aligns with your image as a troublemaker.
We can totally use this to elevate you to the Queen of Chaos! ”
I try to smile with her. I am happy that I still have my contract with the PEW and that I’m still in the good graces of the match directors. Something about this whole situation still feels wrong.
“Come on. You’ve missed a week of training, and we need to get you prepped for next week’s match,” she says, leading the way to the training wing.
Maybe a good training session is what I need to get my mind clear. I need to throw someone around, get slammed against the ropes. I roll my neck and shake out my arms and legs, trying to loosen up for practice.
“Ooommphh!” I grunt as I’m slammed into the corner of the ring by Talia Tanners.
She’s a first year, but a new crowd favorite.
She’s already being nicknamed “America’s Beauty.
” She’s strong, likeable, and has that all-American look the fans love.
We have a match this Thursday for Throw-Down Thursdays.
I’m so out of shape. Not having a match for two weeks has thrown my training off, and Talia is handing me my ass right now.
We pause. When choreographing matches, you want to consider showing off each athlete’s strengths, giving the crowd a good show, and not doing stuff that’s been done before. No two matches should be the same.
“Okay, so, once I’ve got you here, in the corner.
How about I run at you, like I’m going to slam my shoulder into you,” Talia says, moving in slow motion.
“But,” she pauses, holding up a manicured finger with bright blue nail polish.
“You deliver a Spartan kick or something and send me flying back!”
I haven’t trained with Talia too much, but she’s already proving to be a better team player than Eva.
Eva’s more experienced, but Talia being new to the team means she doesn’t have as big of an ego yet.
I consider her idea; there are no bad ideas when we are playing around with choreography.
It’s good to stay open-minded. Dahlia is good about being hands-off until we get to the fine-tuning part of the routine.
Some coaches will tell their athletes exactly what to do, and it takes the fun out of the training sessions sometimes.
“I’ve been working on this new move—it’s more of a finisher move—but I’d love to be able to work it into this match,” I say, pushing some sweaty pieces of hair off my forehead.
“Oh, hell yes!” Talia cheers. “I’m trying to figure out a signature move, but I just want to make it through this first year, ya know?”
She’s gonna stick around. She’s gorgeous, so she’ll attract lots of male viewers. She’s bubbly, so lots of women will like her too. And she’s a really good athlete. She’s about half a foot shorter than I am, but she’s got stamina, and energy. I think she’ll go far in this sport.
“So, let’s try it! Hit me with your best shot, Chaos Queen!” she playfully taunts me as she gets in a ready position.
Hearing that nickname from her doesn’t sound too bad. Maybe, instead of fighting this image, I should just lean into it. There’s nothing wrong with a little chaos. Organized chaos can be fun sometimes.
Talia and I spend the next two hours mapping out our match.
We’ll polish it up tomorrow and the next day, then it’s show time Thursday night.
I’m actually really excited for this match.
The match directors chatted with us, and we have an amazing twist in store for the fans.
It’s going to be great. Knowing what’s in store for Thursday, has me feeling confident that I’m going to be here to stay in the PEW after this season.
I can feel myself walking taller–if that’s even possible.
After training, a bunch of us are grabbing much-needed calories in the dining facility of the training center. I load my plate up with four steaks tacos, a couple scoops of rice and then top everything with queso and guac. My mouth is watering.
I join Jazz, who is practically sitting in Travis’ lap.
Good for her. At least one of us is getting laid.
Travis is a cool guy. No pun intended. His stage name is Travis “Ice Man” Hurley.
He’s in his fourth year of his contract with the PEW and he is probably going to be on the big stage after this season.
He’s become such a crowd favorite, he’s awesome at improvising, and his fan-base has tripled since he won the championship belt last season.
It doesn’t hurt that he has icy blonde hair, like Billy Idol, and is massive.
He’s taller than I am, standing at six feet five inches, and he’s all thick muscle.
His family are huge wrestling fans, and Travis has been dead set on being a professional wrestler since he was a kid.
Must be nice to have a family that supports you in this sport.
Talia joins the three of us, and the Glam Squad girls are at a table behind us.
“I love taco Tuesdays,” Travis says as he inhales an entire chicken taco in one bite.
“You know you can eat my taco any day,” Jazz says not subtlety at all.
Travis huffs a laugh and throws his arm around her. “Oh, I plan on having plenty later,” he says. He proceeds to lean into her and lick her neck, which is still salty with her sweat from earlier.
“Ugh. Can y’all two let a girl eat, please?” Talia says, letting her southern accent slip out.
“Oh hush. Don’t hate because you’re not getting any, rookie,” Jazz teases, but she shoves Travis’ face away from her neck so she can focus on her food.
I finish my first taco and feel the need to get something off my chest. I need to talk to somebody about this. “Do you guys ever get creepy fan mail?” I ask.
“Fuck yes! Ugh. So many unwanted dick pics,” Jazz says, slapping her palms atop the table, making our trays and cups rattle.
“What?” Travis asks her, not looking happy at all. “From who?”
“If I knew, I’d have tracked them down myself and kicked their scrawny packages so hard that it gets lost in their digestive system,” Jazz huffs. “Just random fans. I dunno. They don’t put their names on the envelopes.” She rolls her eyes and finishes the dregs of her diet soda.
“So gross. I haven’t gotten much fan mail yet. But, if I ever get dick pics, I’m burning them,” Talia says with her face twisted in disgust. She’s even pushed her tray away, appetite lost.
“Well, I have gotten some nude pics from female fans, too,” Travis admits, his cheeks a little red.
“Ohhh? Really? And pray tell what do you do with these risqué gifts?” Jazz asks, doing a pathetic job of hiding her jealousy. “The correct answer is to return them to the sender… Or just straight up burn them.”
I snort, spitting out my drink. I fucking love Jazz. She’s guaranteed to put you in a good mood.
Travis chuckles, holding her tight against his side. “They’re in a shoe box in my closet. They got nothing on you, baby. But, some of them are in interesting positions. Wanna see?”
The two stand up and scurry off to have some weird, jealousy-induced sex. Lucky bastards.
“Guess we’ll bus their trays,” Talia says, picking at her shrimp. “Were you asking that because you’ve gotten some creepy mail, Mar?”
I slump in my chair, chewing my food slowly as I think.
I shrug my shoulders, thinking it’s not a big deal anymore.
Looks like everyone gets weird fan mail.
I haven’t received dick pics, so I guess that makes me pretty lucky.
Seems like it’s just part of being an athlete in the spotlight. It’s part of this life.
“Yea, but nothing too bad,” I say, trying to convince myself.
I finish my food quickly, eager to take a shower.
“I’ll see ya later, Talia. Great training today.”
“You’re awesome, Margeaux. Excited to be working with the Queen of Chaos,” she says, shooting me a wink.