Joining TPA, Part 2
After hearing Jane out to a certain extent, we were about to follow the coaches outside when she called Selma and me back.
“Selma and Rina. You two wait a moment. Sophia, give me three minutes.”
“Sure.”
Everyone filed out, leaving only Jane, Selma, and me.
“You two. When are your periods?”
“The fifteenth of every month.”
“Mine’s the first.”
Jane jotted our answers down at once.
“Regular?”
“Mine’s a little irregular.”
“Mine’s always the same.”
“Cramps?”
“Neither of us gets them too bad.”
“That’s a real relief. Rina’s regular, so she should be fine enough, but Selma’s definitely going to need these.”
Jane immediately pulled something from her pocket and held it out to us.
“Birth control. I can’t pull you from the card to match the dates the first month. So regulate it properly so it doesn’t mess with your matches. If you run out, buy the same brand.”
“Ah. Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”
“Thank you.”
We took them without hesitation.
“Just so you know—TPA’s pretty lenient about birth control. Other promotions aren’t. Only with reporting and permission. Keep that in mind.”
“Thank you for telling us.”
“Yes.”
“Rina, stay a second. Selma, head out first.”
Selma left at once. Jane scrubbed her face dry with both hands, then spoke.
“You’re not mad at me for treating you coldly, are you?”
“No. Not at all.”
“Doesn’t seem that way.”
Jane gave me a sidelong look. A little disappointment had been there, sure, but anger? Not even enough to sulk over.
“Aigoo. Of course I want to look after you more—we’re both Korean. But you were born and raised in America, so you already know, right? If I play favorites, it’ll only hurt you more… You get that, don’t you?”
So that was why she’d given no reaction at all even though we were both second-generation. She’d deliberately gone the extra mile for me. I was grateful.
“Well, I’m no legendary superstar. If I were a national rep maybe, but I’m not. So I kept my distance on purpose. If I hurt your feelings, I’m sorry.”
“No. Really, nothing like that.”
“Yeah? Good, then. Here.”
Jane handed me a black business card.
“This isn’t a regular card. It’s got my direct line and personal cell. Anything hard comes up, any problem—call me anytime. Private worries, personal stuff, all fine.”
Oh. That was genuinely appreciated. Steady help like this meant more than a one-time favor.
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you so much.”
“Go on out. Sophia and Anthony will be waiting.”
“Understood.”
“Let’s grab dinner together sometime.”
“Yes. Call me whenever. I’ll be ready.”
“Got it. Once you’ve settled in a bit, we’ll eat.”
“Yes.”
“And thanks for writing my theme song.”
“I’m the one who should thank you for letting me use it.”
I stepped out of the conference room and headed for TPA’s practice facility with Sophia, Selma, Alf, Clint, and the others who’d been waiting by the door.
“The practice hall’s open every day from six in the morning to ten at night. Sundays too.”
“So we can come practice whenever we want?”
“Of course. Just—no dangerous moves on weekends or late at night. High-risk work only when a coach is present.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Yes, sir.”
We stepped into the practice hall. Everyone else must have gone to New York for TPA Hot Slam; the place was nearly empty. Only three male wrestlers and two women sat inside the ring. Whatever they found so hilarious, they were giggling so hard they didn’t even notice us walk in. One of the women was perched on a guy’s thigh, practically nestled in his arms. Maybe they were a couple or married—but right there in the ring?
If I’d known it would be like this, maybe I should have watched more TPA matches. Once I got home I was usually too busy showering and crashing to bother… So I had no idea what level these people even were. Normally Selma would have filled me in, but she was meeting the coaches for the first time too and kept her mouth shut tight.
Hmm. I should study up on the TPA roster over the weekend. I’d leaned on Selma too much and slacked off.
The moment we fully entered, the wrestlers in the ring scrambled to their feet. Not because of us—because of the coaches.
“Nice work. Your colleagues are prepping a PPV in New York and you’ve got time to screw around.”
“Sophia, drop it. They do this every day. Just leave them.”
“If they’re going to come all the way here just to play, they might as well not show up.”
From the coaches’ tone, these were jobbers.
“Leave those idiots alone.”
“Yeah, better. Just makes your blood boil. Tch.”
When Anthony reined her in, Sophia finally looked away completely.
“Since you’re here, let’s see your in-ring work. I watched the showcase footage, but I want to see it live—and I want more of it.”
“You work with your partners all the time, right? No need to coordinate separately?”
Anthony and Sophia spoke as if they’d planned it.
“Yes, sir. How long should the matches run?”
“No need for long. Roughly five, six minutes.”
“Will the ref call the time?”
“Only the final minute.”
Time management was a skill too. If you were told to work a ten-minute match and it dragged, or if the finish came too early, that was broadcast-disaster material. The referee would keep calling out how many minutes had passed or remained, sure—but hearing it didn’t make it easy to reshuffle or cut spots on the fly. And doing so usually shattered the flow.
“What about wins and losses?”
“Figure it out yourselves. It’s more fun if we don’t know either. Thirty minutes to warm up enough?”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“Men’s locker room that way, women’s that way.”
The second Sophia finished, we bolted for the lockers, changed fast, and came back out. Alf and James, already changed, were up in the ring first, warming up and talking between themselves. Selma and I discussed how we’d work our match too.
“Rina. How do you want to do this?”
“I already showed plenty in the showcase. Today we make you look good.”
“You sure?”
“Of course. We’ll match the tempo to your style too.”
“Then I’m all for it. Spots only in the last minute?”
We’d worked against each other so many times a day that we didn’t need extra chemistry drills. Just set the spots and the finish and we were good.
“Yeah. Same as always. Cut the submissions and strikes and we’ll hit a six-minute cut no problem.”
“Selma. If we go regular, the impact might feel light. Plan D. Cool?”
Of all the scenarios we’d built, Plan D was pure Selma showcase.
“Obviously. Plan D and I’m the grateful one. And let’s drop the submissions and joint locks too. With those we won’t fit inside six.”
“Yeah. Whatever’s comfortable for you. I’ll match anything.”
“Thanks.”
Alf and James’s singles match started first. The coaches set up two cameras; Sophia held a third by hand. Anthony climbed in to referee.
Those two had clearly decided today was James’s day to shine. The match leaned hard into the “shooter” style—lots of kicks. Rope rebounds into dropkicks or knee strikes, a suplex to put Alf down, then a soccer kick as he rose.
“Aaaagh!”
Alf screamed and sprawled completely.
“Why’s he screaming like that? So over the top…”
Selma clearly still couldn’t stand Alf. Not that anything Alf did would ever win her over.
“Selma. That much is fine. Fans will just think the screaming is part of his character.”
Alf fired back now and then—rope rebound into a diving crossbody, or a German suplex from behind. The highlight was the double dropkick. Both men rebounded off the ropes and hit running dropkicks at the same time. Their feet collided mid-air.
—Crack—
Both crashed onto their backs and rolled. Double down. Not even standing still—hitting dropkicks while charging in. They’d clearly drilled this hard somewhere we never saw.
“When did they practice that?”
“Right? Never saw it once.”
“Should we try one later?”
I wanted it, and Selma clearly coveted that kind of timing too.
“No. I can only do push dropkicks. We’ll do it when I can hit a normal one.”
“Okay.”
James rose first, clutching his knee and staggering, then set his stance. The moment Alf wobbled up, James speared him, then finished from the top rope with a Swanton Bomb.
—Clap clap clap—
Sophia started applauding; we joined in with cheers.
“Well done. James. Alf.”
“What’s with this guy? Actually looked cool this time.”
The two of them hopped up like nothing had happened. Then Sophia’s praise came.
“Five minutes forty-six. Time was perfect. Outstanding. If you weren’t a tag team I’d debut you just like this. Really well done.”
“Thank you.”
“Thank you.”
Anthony, still in referee mode, grinned wide, shook hands with Alf and James, and clapped their shoulders with his free hand. He leaned in and murmured something by their ears. I couldn’t catch the words, but his expression said everything.
“You lot see that? Kids who graduated the academy yesterday work at that level. What the hell are you? You’ve got time to screw around with your skill? Aren’t you embarrassed?”
Whoa. Sophia’s temper was no joke.
“All right. Let’s see Selma and Rina.”
James and Alf climbed out and high-fived us on the way. Taking it like a tag, Selma and I stepped into the ring.
“You two will show us that level too, right?”
“We’ll do better.”
“They’re a tag team. We’re singles. We’re way better. No comparison to that Alf guy.”
“Hahaha! That so? Looking forward to it.”
Anthony laughed hard at Selma’s cocky line.
“Rina.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m counting on you. I don’t want to lose to the likes of Alf.”
“Got it. Trust me.”
“Yeah.”
The second the word “Go” left Anthony’s mouth, I drove an elbow straight into Selma’s jaw.
“Ack!”
