Chaos 76 – Post Match – Backstage

I feel like I got to feel the full force of Hurricane Zaia. Of course I’m not one-hundred percent sure if she was holding back; but the girl can throw a punch. Let me tell you. I can only hope that in the end she learned something about me, too. We get beat down around here. A lot. That’s what Carnage is. Offense is only half of the equation.

The other half is weathering the storm.

Once again I found myself denying medical attention. Hey, I’m not afraid to admit that I’m human. I know by now that most of the pain that I’ll be in I’ll feel (conveniently) tomorrow morning. While the adrenaline is still trickling through my veins I do what I can to peel the leather ring gear away from my skin. Cold showers work wonders to open up those little capillaries to feed oxygen to my starving muscles. There’s no time to waste, though. I struggle to find the correct balance between hurrying myself and making sure that I’ll still be somewhat presentable for tonight. A few quick dabs of makeup in the right spots and nobody will even know about the shiner. Well, as long as my eye doesn’t swell.

I’m still drying my hair the moment that I pass through the threshold of my locker room. Gear stuffed in my bag. I can still hear the Carnage Legion in moments with the occasional loud cheer or jeer – I guess the main event is still going on – but I’ve got to get a move on.

“Hey Maggie, not staying for the main?”

Nope. Not tonight Mister… Network guy who doesn’t have a nametag on his generic black CW polo. It’s not that I don’t care, it’s just… tonight I have something that’s just a little more important than Carnage Wrestling. And the way Bridges talked down to me? Forget this shit for one night.

I can only hope that she’s still out there; hope that she’s still waiting somewhere where I can pick her up so that I can finally get some answers about why she’s here.

I’ve got a date.

No, not that kind.

I head out into the parking lot where the Carnage Wrestling private limo is waiting for me, or so I think. I was hoping that she would be out here standing around it but I don’t see her at first glance. I walk up to the limo to check it out – maybe she’s inside. Nope. Door’s locked. The driver gets out.

“Sorry Ma’am.” He says. “I was told that Mister Bridges will be needing the ride tonight.”

Figures. If there’s one thing Jason Bridges is good at, it’s kicking a person who is already down.

I decided not to argue. I just say “fine” under my breath. I’ve got more important matters to attend to, like finding her. Luckily for me I didn’t have too far to go. As a matter of fact, she startled me.

“Hey.”

I jump.

“Oh Jesus, you scared me.”

“My bad.”

I felt myself smirking because the entire time I was worried that she would have forgotten about me and our plans to hit up a bar after the show. But there she was, the girl named Amber who technically works for me at the Paper Street Tattoo Company; but then again I haven’t been back there since New Years Day when it burned down. Amber, whose last name I’m not familiar with (it’s been a day for single names, right Zaia?) decided to stick around after all, even after fucking Amelia Nixon lied and had security throw her out. Amber was still dressed in that saucy little black number and still looked ready to go. And there I was, as formal as I could fake it in the little bit of time that I had.

“Kind of feel like I’m not welcome around here.” Amber says. “First the arena and now the limo.”

“What?”

“Yeah. I was inside it a few minutes ago shooting the shit with chubby bunny over there. Then all of a sudden he tells me to get out. Now what are we gonna do?”

“Well the most important thing is that you stuck around.” I say. “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you went back to your hotel.”

“You did tell me to stay.” She reminds me. “So why would I go?”

“True.” I admit I’m a bit taken aback by her candor in this moment. “Well, I guess we’re gonna have to Uber it, then. If you don’t mind.”

“Uber it is.”

We wait for the cab or whatever you call it. ‘Shoot the shit’ about my match. Yeah, I wasn’t too interested in fighting back, at first. Will be the last time I ever let my guard down against Zaia because I can already feel some of tomorrow morning’s pain spilling through. I was pleased to report that I did win, in spite of all of that. But I can’t help myself from thinking about Bridges and all of these inconveniences he must think that he’s putting me through. If he wasn’t solely responsible for getting me out of jail, who knows? It might have been his head getting stomped instead of Zaias. In no time at all the car arrives at the bar that I’ve chosen: a highly respectable but not-too-fancy establishment on the other side of the bay in Fells Point. There’s a lot of people our age out here drinking, even for a Monday night.

It’s not until we walk side by side up to the door of the bar do I start to worry about the clothes I’ve worn. As I mentioned before, I did the best I could. Amber doesn’t seem to mind. Matter of fact, she doesn’t seem to mind about much of anything at all. We sit down at a table and order an appetizer and our first round of drinks for the evening. We get carded and Amber is quick to reach for her purse.

“See?” She says directed at me. “I told you.”

She didn’t forget our conversation earlier where I flat-out asked her if she was even old enough to go to a bar. I wouldn’t have judged her, I’m barely legal myself. As it turned out our New York licenses were still good here in Maryland so we were able to pick up right where we left off.

“So you have family down in Charlotte?” I ask.

“Yeah. My folks own a farm just outside of town.”

“That’s cool,” In my mind I’m both trying to figure out which part of the suburbs that might be while also trying not to think about my own family from Charlotte. “It really is a small world, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

The conversation was going nowhere fast and the more small-talk I tried to produce the shorter Amber’s answers got. I felt like I was drowning in a bad idea, but I was spared when I (with the help of a stiff cocktail) worked up the courage to get down to the real reason why I chose to do this tonight.

“I’ve got to say Amber,” I say practically leaning into my martini glass, “Something is still bothering me.”

“Well out with it then.”

“You say that Nadette didn’t send you,” (Nadette being the shop manager of the tattoo parlor that I both own and Amber works for.) “But really if you’re here because of the shop, then technically aren’t you, in a way, still kind of doing this for Nadette?”

Amber shakes her head and chuckles.

“Like I said before, Nadette has no idea I’m here. What I do in my time off is of no concern to her, or any of the girls back at the shop. I honestly don’t know why I’m here.” She runs her hand through her long black hair and fiddles with her drink, “Call it morbid curiosity, or whatever. I hear about you all the time and since I’m the only one at the shop who doesn’t know you… I wanted the chance. I’ve seen your work. I’ve heard the stories.. and when you finally ‘reappeared’ I guess I just decided to come and see what you’re really about.”

She shrugged her shoulders and took a sip. Which was a good thing. I wasn’t really prepared to answer that kind of question. What am I really all about? Even that I’m not quite sure. But I’m working on it… I am keeping a journal. (Wink wink.)

“That’s what happens when you spend a few months in the pen.” I couldn’t believe that I’m still telling this story as if nobody knew about it. Surely TMZ or 410mania picked up on that the moment that the cuffs were slapped on. “As for what I’m about, I don’t know. Jason Bridges was the only person who decided to help me out. So I guess now I’m helping him out.”

“Wait… You were in prison?”

As I said: Why does nobody know?!

“Yep. First Rikers Island. Then shipped down here to be… dropped off I guess.”

Amber nodded her head, “But… If you don’t mind my asking, Why?”

I shook my head back. “They tried to say I started the fire myself for the insurance money. As far as them shipping me down to Baltimore… I don’t really know.”

I told her about more of the prison life and how much ‘fun’ it was to not have any freedom and to be treated like a piece of absolute shit every single day I spent on the inside. What I didn’t tell her though, was the last ‘talk’ I had with Nadette. How the woman who’d I’d consider more than my best friend, more than just a mother-figure to me, told me that “I needed to learn my lesson” and that “I should stay there until I got my life figured out”.

Nadette bought the story of the fire being my fault hook, line, and sinker. I guess I can’t blame her in some ways… but oh boy… in some ways I really, really do. I think for her she already had it in her mind that I was done with the shop life. I was, in her defense, out living the fight life instead. I was flying all over the globe, wrestling two and three shows a week sometimes – hell I was a singles champion in multiple world-class federations at the same time. But I guess at the end of the day Nadette was already preconditioned to the notion that I’d literally burn my old life (and whatever ties I had to it) to the ground.

I also guess that’s why I was holding onto my skepticism of Amber; I couldn’t really trust that this wasn’t another tactic of Nadette keeping her eye on me from afar. Nadette likes to act like she doesn’t care sometimes. But to believe the word of the authorities over me? To tell me that I should rot in jail? She took ‘motherly’ a bit too far.

“So why haven’t you come back?” She asked me succinctly.

It was Nadette. It was the shop itself.

It was… feeling like everything up there was better off without me.

As far as I know the Paper Street Tattoo Company was getting along just fine in their new location. Who am I to change that?

“I uhh… well…” I find my fingertips tracing the edge of my empty glass. “I don’t want to cause any trouble. Any more than I already have anyway.”

“I guess I’m not as ‘in the loop’ as everyone else probably is.. But I don’t see how you’d make any trouble… They miss you. But I mean, you gotta do what’s best for you… What makes you happy, you know?”

“Yeah…” My voice trails off. I’m saved by the waiter who advantageously delivers our next round of drinks. My lips have never felt so dry; my mouth so parched.

What makes me happy? I don’t know. Fighting makes me happy. Art makes me happy. Making people happy makes me happy. But it’s a tough choice when every spec of your life is living proof that you’re a fuckup machine. I think about Lucy… and JC. I think about Jason Bridges and about the day he sprung me. I think about the old shop burning down right before my very eyes and not having a damn thing I can do about it.

“I’m just trying to take it day by day.” I say after a bitter cough. I shouldn’t have chugged my drink. Apparently the barback kept making them stronger. “I don’t really know what I should do. Everything is fine the way it is now. Dette always thought I liked fighting more than I liked the shop anyway.”

“Do you?”

It was complicated, but – I knew the answer right away. Alcohol seemed to help.

“No. I liked them both equally.”

“Then why does it have to be one or the other?”

Fear. Common sense. The thought that I’d be reliving the nightmare and would end up back in prison if I tried that same route. I didn’t know.

We continued our conversation although the subject changed completely. I finally worked up the courage to ask her what her last name was again. I learned that it was Caldwell. Amber Caldwell. We stayed until all-but closing time when at that point our Uber was back outside waiting near the door to pick us up. Tl;dr, it was the same guy. I must’ve tipped so well that he couldn’t resist a shot at another excellent fare.

We pulled up back in front of her hotel room and said our goodbyes.

“Wait,” I stopped her just as she was about to walk away. “I’m sorry about what happened tonight… you… wouldn’t be interested in coming to the next show, would you?”

She smirked.

“I was gonna come back anyway, but yes. Maybe this time I’ll make it all the way through your match before my misbehavior gets me booted.”

Misbehavior. I know it was sarcasm, but it was at that moment I found myself looking at her dress. I mean really looking at it. My conscious was screaming the phrase ‘bad idea’ but I was too drunk to listen and my heart was too needy to care.

“Oh no Miss Caldwell, that’ll be taken care of.” I say in relation to Amelia Nixon and her supposed ‘authority’ to have a fan removed from the arena. I feel pretty damn assured that I have what it takes to raise enough hell to make sure that never happens again… to anyone. “I think it’s time that I give Mr. Bridges a call – maybe it’s time that I really put my foot down.”

“Don’t get all formal on me now, shit. But yeah, that boss of yours is… Something else.”

Bosses. There are times that I think that I’m above such things. But I suppose in that moment I realize that I’ve never stopped having people tell me what I should do. From Bridges, to the various Prison Guards, to even Nadette and even my old manager Brad something-or-other. Come to think of it, a lot of the people I took for friends were really just bossing me around (in some way, shape, or form) all along.

“Yeah but he saved me though – when nobody else would.”

“And now, he’s treating you like shit because he thinks he can get away with it. That ain’t right.”

“I’m not saying he’s perfect.” I stammer. “I’m just saying… it would be wrong to be ungrateful.”

“There’s a big difference between being ‘ungrateful’ and letting someone walk all over you just because they did something for you.”

“Hey are you two ladies gonna break it up?” The driver chimes in. “It’s almost two in the mornin’. Some of us have other places to be, ya know?”

Without even thinking about it I apologize and quickly quip that we’re almost done. I turn back toward the window and immediately it feels like there’s a huge pit in my stomach. I couldn’t put my finger on it at the moment but the look on Amber’s face says it all. I’m doing it again. I’m being a doormat… the world’s biggest doormat. Amber walks up to the front of the car and says:

“Hey, you’re getting paid, aren’t you? Chill out, honey. The world ain’t gonna leave without you, I promise.”

She comes back to my window if for nothing more than to see me off.

“I guess I’ll be seeing you in two weeks?” She asks.

“Well… perhaps sooner. Chaos’s are on Mondays but if you got even part of the weekend off… I wouldn’t mind showing you around town a bit more.”

She nodded her head. “Sure. I ain’t never been here until these last few shows so I’d like a tour. I’ll have to check my schedule when I get back and let you know?”

“Yeah, that would be good…” I say, thinking that in some ways I should still have the power to give her those days off. I guess I still own the shop. But it’s not like I’m going to call Nadette any time soon. “Just let me know and I’ll arrange everything else.”

“You got it.” She turned to start walking away but she stopped and turned back, “I had fun tonight. Thanks for everything.”

“No. Thank you. I had fun tonight, too.” I push the words out through my lips. “Be safe driving back up to New York.”

She nodded her head again. “Always.”

Just like that she was gone, back into the hotel for what I presume to be a quick nap before her trip back up I-95 tomorrow. The driver is relieved that we are finished saying our goodbyes. He just can’t help himself but to make a smart-ass comment as he’s pulling away though.

“You two really make a cute couple, ya know that?”

“Shut up.” I reply. Folding my arms across my chest. “I guess you really don’t want any tip this time.”

“I guess you want to walk, then, too.”

Pfft. Five stars. I’m more upset that I can’t even stand up to an unlicensed taxicab driver than anything else. My whole adult life I’ve been fighting against feeling helpless and if there’s one thing I’ve learned tonight it’s that I feel more helpless now than I ever was.

“Just shut up and drive.” I growl.

“Hey, ain’t you Maggie Lockheart?” He asks.

“No!” I shout in his direction. “Absolutely not!”

He chuckles as he looks back at me in the mirror.

“Hey, whatever you say lady.”

“Okay fine. Maybe I am.” I grumble. It seems I’ve got myself a real winner here tonight. “But absolutely no autographs!”

“Nah I was just gonna say you were pretty fine in that street fight. I think I almost hit ya, though! What were you two doin’ out in the middle of the goddamn street?”

Jesus.

It really is a small fucking world after all…