Day 2
The eighth match went off without a hitch—no McCool interference—and Dorothy took the win for TPA.
That put the score back even at four wins apiece.
And the final match belonged to Corey Rhodes, the man with the invincible gimmick. There was never any chance of him losing to some TPA champion.
In the end, Smash Down closed it out five wins to four, and every Smash Down wrestler climbed onto the stage for the victory ceremony.
But they looked less than thrilled about scraping by against an outfit like TPA—the celebration was stiff, almost solemn.
Taking the mic for the brand was Smash Down’s face, Corey Rhodes.
“Watching the fourth match, I found myself wondering if Charlotte Flair hadn’t gone a little overboard,” he said. “We were up three to one at that point. I figured I’d cruise to an easy win myself.”
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
“But that was arrogant of me. Downright cocky. I deeply regret it.”
Voices from the stands called out that it was fine, but Corey Rhodes only bowed his head.
“A month from now, in the main event—nothing like this will happen again. I will not let my guard down. I will prepare thoroughly. I swear it on my honor!”
With that, Day 1 was over.
Corey Rhodes’s real problem wasn’t the five-to-four score, of course.
He held scenario-adjustment authority. He was Smash Down’s face and its leader. For the brand he led to look roughly even with TPA in pure performance—that had to sting.
Whether Smash Down was busy reflecting or not, the mood on our TPA side was excellent.
Only Conleth and Anne wore tight faces. Everyone else was in high spirits.
I’d wrestled second on the card and had watched the entire second half from ringside, so I went over to Elizabeth and asked.
“What’s with Anne’s face?”
“Her match got completely wrecked.”
The words completely wrecked genuinely startled me. I couldn’t imagine what would warrant language that extreme.
“Why? Who botched something? Did someone get hurt?”
Elizabeth shook her head, then spoke.
“There was nothing wrong with Anne’s performance. No mistakes in the scenario either. The problem was the chemistry with Tashani—it was terrible. Just awful.”
“In what way?”
Elizabeth glanced once at Anne, then filled me in. The short version: from the scenario work onward, Tashani had been protecting herself, and the whole match had turned into something neither here nor there.
“So it wasn’t Anne’s fault.”
“True enough. But that doesn’t mean Anne’s going to feel good about it.”
“Yeah. That’s rough.”
After that I was talking with Selma, Olivia, and the others when Director Karl walked in.
“You all worked hard today. You already know this—we lost the score, but we won the performance!”
His victory declaration drew cheers from everyone.
“Hell yeah!”
“Right. If it hadn’t been for Steven Borges, we would’ve taken it.”
“Michael only lost because of that ridiculous invincible gimmick. We won that match on pure performance too.”
The director clapped his hands and cut the chatter short.
“Tonight we sleep in Chicago. Anyone who wants to head back early can leave right away. Anyone staying can do whatever they want—free time, or watch the Day 2 matches. The hotel’s booked through the morning after next.”
He finished, shook hands with every wrestler one by one, and left. Selma and I headed back to our room.
“Rina. What are you doing?”
“I’m staying another day. You?”
“Obviously I’m staying. I’ve got to watch Law and NEXT. Free seats in a great spot? I bet nobody’s going home.”
“Probably not. Let’s stick together.”
As she said it, Selma touched the brace on my right shoulder.
“Do you really have to keep wearing this? You’re not even hurt.”
“I figure I should fake being sore for a few more days.”
“Then why write a scenario that makes extra work for yourself?”
“It was memorable, though.”
“Ugh. Okay, I’ll give you that.”
The next day, Selma and I met Charlotte and Alicia for a free lunch.
I’d noticed it when they stayed at our place before—once the makeup came off, both of them had surprisingly gentle faces. If they’d had the bulky builds of the male wrestlers, people might have stared, but they didn’t. A pair of sunglasses was enough that almost no one recognized us.
“Did you watch all the matches yesterday?”
“Yeah. I thought the third match would be the problem, but it wasn’t.”
“Exactly. Our locker room was chaos yesterday. The director was furious on his own, and Tashani was furious about being put in that match in the first place.”
Charlotte and Alicia filled us in on everything that had gone down in the locker room the night before.
“Honestly, wasn’t that the director’s fault?” I said. “If Tashani hates No DQ matches, he shouldn’t have booked her in one.”
Selma’s eye for the business had sharpened enough that she landed right on the point.
“It was always a scenario where Anne won, so they built the match around what Anne does best. The chemistry just turned out worse than expected. I doubt they’ll ever put those two together again.”
I’d heard it before—two wrestlers could both be technically excellent and still not mesh, whether from personality or style. Anne and Tashani seemed to be exactly that case.
Charlotte and Tashani were famously a bad matchup with each other, too.
Even someone like Miyu Sky—the “Heavenly Genius”—had terrible chemistry with big powerhouses like Nadia Jackson.
Lisa Rayple, on the other hand, was known as a no-matchup wrestler: she worked with anyone.
“Tashani’s pickier about chemistry than I expected,” I said. “With all those flashy moves, I figured she’d be fine with anyone.”
“Yeah. It frustrates her too.”
After the meal, I suggested a quick stop at a convenience store.
“Need something?”
“We’re sitting in the crowd anyway. Figured I might as well pull a little aggro.”
“Is that all you ever think about? You’re in Chicago—do some shopping, see the sights.”
“Alicia doesn’t do shopping either.”
Alicia lit up at that.
“Ohhh! So deep down you respect me. Exactly. What do we need clothes for? Wrestling gear and training clothes—that’s it.”
“Well, there’s that,” I said, “but I’ve also got clothing ads coming in. Free clothes later, so…”
The words clothing ads made all three of them stare.
Female wrestlers did land commercials sometimes, but they were usually aimed at men—engine oil, power drills, tool sets. If you were lucky, maybe a beer spot. More often it wasn’t ads at all—it was sexy photo shoots in bikinis or lingerie.
“What? Ads?”
“Hey! What clothing ads?”
“Some casual brand, I think. I don’t know the details. It came in through TPA, and they pushed it back for later.”
“What else? Anything else?”
“A mint-choco whipped cream ad, and a car engine oil ad.”
Three of them. Their eyes went wide enough to pop.
“Three? How much?”
“Holy crap. You’ve only been debuted three months?”
“Never mind that—she’s actually doing the whipped cream one.”
“Selma. I haven’t signed anything, so I don’t know the money yet.”
“Hey! You should’ve bought lunch, then.”
Charlotte was being petty about who’d paid for lunch. The whole bill hadn’t even hit a hundred and fifty dollars.
“I told you—I haven’t signed. When I do, I’ll treat. When I do. I’m hitting the convenience store first.”
I ducked inside alone, grabbed an armful of what I wanted, and headed for the United Center.
There, with Charlotte and Alicia’s help, Selma and I got introduced to the Smash Down roster.
“They look scary, and a few of them are a little sideways—but there aren’t any real bitches in the bunch.”
“Yes, ma’am! Flair-senpai.”
Selma answered like she’d been put on full military alert.
“I told you to relax.”
It wasn’t even their first meeting, and Charlotte kept telling her to take it easy, but Selma stayed like that the whole day. Meeting the stars she’d idolized would do that to a person.
We also ran into people we already knew—Vianna, Nadia—and Tashani Stratton, whose match the night before had blown up over performance. Judging by the swollen eyes, she’d been crying over the online hate. We said a quick hello and moved on.
We also met Mickey Cross, the one Charlotte had told us to get friendly with, and swapped contact info—a solid win.
The funniest part: from behind, Alicia and Mickey were completely indistinguishable. That was probably why they’d had that whole “crazy bitches’ rivalry” storyline. When Alicia was briefly sane, Mickey went off the deep end; when Mickey came back to her senses, Alicia dropped the plot. That kind of arc.
After making the full round of introductions, with about an hour left before the show started, I took Selma and headed for the cafeteria.
“You’re handing all of this out?”
“Yeah. We can’t just eat it ourselves. We’ve got to share with our side. It’ll be fun, right?”
“You’re insane. That’s not a gimmick—you’re actually crazy.”
“Fine. Then you don’t get any. Just try eating some—”
“No, I’m eating. I’ll help.”
So the two of us, arms full, made our way to the section of the stands where the TPA wrestlers were sitting and dropped into our seats.
“You’re late.”
“What were you doing?”
“What’s that smell?”
Selma and I handed out the popcorn we’d heated in a microwave—still warm—to the TPA roster.
“Popcorn?”
“They don’t sell this here.”
“Bought it at a convenience store, heated it in the cafeteria, and brought it over.”
“Oh! Sense. Good.”
“How do you even think of this stuff?”
“The Law kids are going to lose their minds.”
Everyone loved it—men and women both. Even Anne, who’d been wearing a long face, softened a little at the sight of the popcorn.
“Let’s open them when it starts. If we open them now, we’ll finish the whole bag.”
“Yeah. Everyone open together.”
“Okay.”
Watching my teammates’ bright faces, I pulled Selma to her feet.
“What?”
“Come with me.”
“Where?”
“I wanted to grab Alf and James too, but they’re sitting way too far away.”
“Huh?”
I had her carry a bag I’d set aside, and we headed for the judges’ table.
“Oh. Charina! We were just talking about you.”
“Is your arm really hurt? You okay?”
Karish and RBD spotted us first and called out.
“Hello. I’m Charina. And the arm’s a show. I’m fine.”
“Selma G.”
We greeted the other judges as well.
“You’re not supposed to come over here.”
“It’s before the show starts—should be fine, right?”
“Just dropping this off and going.”
Selma, reading the room perfectly, handed the popcorn straight to the judges.
“Hahaha! Popcorn?”
“That rich smell was this, huh.”
“You brought these on purpose? Just for us?”
Questions poured in from the panel.
“Every TPA wrestler’s got one.”
“Heh heh heh. Rina. This was your idea, wasn’t it?”
Mick Foley’s question got nothing but a little smile from me.
“Pulling aggro, are we? Nice—but you’re missing one thing.”
“Sir?”
“You should’ve brought beer. Heh heh.”
I had absolutely no intention of delivering beer, but I answered with a laugh.
“I’ll consider it next time, sir.”
“Good. I’ll enjoy the popcorn. Thanks.”
“Yes. We’ll be going.”
When the first match started, every TPA wrestler tore into their popcorn at once.