After fifteen minutes, the waiter sets a steaming steak in front of Mark, and places the chef salad and the huge burger with fries surrounding it in front of me. "Enjoy," the waiter says as he departs. Again, silence befalls the table as we eat.
I finish my salad, my burger, and half my fries when the silence finally agitates me. I look up, and see Mark watching me; I guess he'd finished his meal a while before I looked up. I push my plate toward the middle of the table, and ask sweetly, "Do you want the rest of my fries?"
Smirking again, he takes the plate from the center, and brings it in front of him, saying, "A little too much for you, right?" All I can do is nod as I watch the fries quickly disappear. Once the plate is clear of food, he looks back up at me, then at the clock on the wall. It's only 1:40. "What do you want to do now?" he asks.
I think for a while, being it a decade or more since I've been to Dallas. "You know, I don't really want to go anywhere," I tell him. "Being here, with you, is enough for me."
I then notice a piece of paper stuck under a ketchup bottle. I pick it up, and am about to unfold it when the waiter comes back to our table. He notices the paper in my hand, and says, "Don't worry about the check. It's been paid for." He takes the paper from me, and stuffs it in his pocket. "Please come back soon." He then leaves again.
I look up at Mark. "God, I hate when people do that," I say. "I didn't even get to see it!"
Mark laughs. "Sometimes, it's better that way," is his answer. He stands, and holds out his hand to me. "Come on, let's find someplace more comfortable." I stand and take his outstretched hand.
I look out past the entrance to the restaurant, and see this little cozy souvenir shop. "Mark, I think I'll do a little shopping first, all right?" I tell him.
He nods, and I take my hand back to dig around in my mini backpack. As soon as we exit the restaurant, I notice quite a few people milling around, but bypass them all to reach the souvenir shop. I look around, and find some pretty cute things. I pick up a stuffed lion for Kiara, a teacup that has an ocean scene painted all around it for Rita to add to her collection, a lighter with the city name written in fiery letters for Michael (collects lighters, you know), and a new pair of sunglasses for myself.
I go to the checkout, where a teenager is sitting on a stool, chewing gum and reading a magazine; a wrestling magazine. I clear my throat, and she looks up at me. "Oh, sorry, didn't see you come in," she apologizes, and picks up the sunglasses to scan the price. She looks up at me, and quietly gasps. "Hey, aren't you that one lady from last night?" Her face lights up, and she points at me. "Yeah, you're Shane's girlfriend!"
I nod. "Yeah, I guess I'm that lady," I reply, suppressing a smile. "So you watch?"
She nods enthusiastically. "Don't miss a show!" she exclaims. Finally, she begins to scan the items on the counter. "Wow, I didn't think the wrestlers would come in here, this being a little shop and all." She finishes scanning the souvenirs. "Anything else you want?"
I look around the shop, and notice something shining near the back. "Hold that thought," I tell her, and head off toward the back. When I arrive, I see the most beautiful, handcrafted porcelain knick-knack. It's a red and black Harley-Davidson, with Harley-Davidson written in gold letters on the side of the gas tank, not sure what kind, but it's propped up by a kickstand, and has a black and tan Doberman lying down beside it. 'Mark would love this,' I think to myself, and pick it up, bringing it with me to the front of the shop again. "Here, add this, please," I ask of her.
She happily scans it as well, and tells me the total. I fish around in my wallet until I come up with a fifty. "Keep the extra stuff," I tell her. She just nods, and I walk out of the store, my purchases in a little paper bag with the hotel's emblem on the sides.
I look around to where I left Mark, and notice quite a large group of people surrounding him, as well as a few of the other wrestlers. "No wonder so many people were just standing there," I say to myself as I head toward the elevators.
On my way there, a couple of twelve-year-old boys intercept me. "Excuse us, miss," one on them says, "but are you the woman that the Undertaker almost chokeslammed last night?"
I nod my head slowly, and reply, "Yes, that would be me."
The other one, shorter than the first, quickly tells me, "We just wanted to tell you that we thought you took a Taker tossin' better than most of the wrestlers, and we wanted to know if we could have an autograph."
I set my bag down. "Sure," I say, and accept a pen and an autograph book from the second boy. "What's your name?"
"Jeremy."
I sign Jeremy's book, and hand it back to him. I then take the pen and book from the first boy. "My name's Mike," he quickly says. I sign Mike's book with a different saying, and hand it back to him. "Thank you."
"Thanks for mine, too," Jeremy calls out as they walk away.
I smile, pick my bag back up, and arrive at the elevators. When one finally gets to the lobby after I press the button, I get in and press the button for the sixth floor. After a few stops on the way up, I get to the sixth floor, and go to the hotel room. It takes one try with the keycard for the door to click. Excitement flows through my body as I step into the room, and close the door. "God, how long has it been since I've been away from home?" I ask myself aloud.
I set the bag down beside my suitcase. "Should unpack," I say. I unzip the suitcase, and begin to unpack my clothing, and put it all into one half of the dresser. Taking my essentials from the suitcase, I place them in the bathroom. While I'm in there, I look around. The huge tub can become a Jacuzzi! "How can New York beat this?" I ask, curious as to what extra extras a hotel room could have.
I walk out of the bathroom just as Mark is coming in. "Have fun?" I ask.
"It's been a while, but it was good to give autographs again," Mark replies. "I saw a couple of boys come up to you." He smiles. "See? You have fans already."
I smile back. "Well, I guess I do gain the attention of the male species," I reply, smiling coyly and playing with my hair.
Mark smirks, and responds, "You've got mine, that's for sure." He steps closer to me, and circles his arms around my back.
Suddenly, the phone rings. "Who the hell would even try to call now?" I ask, pretty damn angry at another moment spoiled.
Mark goes to the bedside table, and picks up the receiver. "Hello?" he says into the mouthpiece. A pause, and "Yes," follows. I climb onto the comfortable bed, and stretch out, waiting for the call to end. A couple of minutes of silence follows, and finally, Mark says, "Sounds good. See you later then. 'Bye." He hangs up the phone.
"Who was that?" I ask.
Mark looks over his shoulder at me, and sits on the edge of the bed. "Vince. He was going over a few details." he tells me. "But now, it's just you and me." He leans over me, and places his lips expertly over mine. I savor the pressure of our bodies pressed together.
The knick-knack floats back into my mind, and I push Mark off of me. "I found something for you," I tell him as I roll off the bed and head for the bag. I fish through the items until I pull up the tightly paper-wrapped gift. "I thought you'd like it." I hand the package to him, and sit down beside him.
I watch as Mark carefully unwraps the paper. When the last shred of paper falls off the porcelain gift, I look up to see his reaction. He smiles, and looks down into my eyes. "Thank you," he says to me softly, and kisses my lips again.
I quickly glance at the clock, which reads two o'clock. "We have an hour and a half before we're supposed to be waiting for a limo," I inform him as he puts the knick-knack down on the table. "What could we possibly do in that amount of time?"
"Oh, I could think up a few things," Mark says, and leans toward me again, kissing me deeply. I almost fall back onto the bed when Mark pulls back. "I bet someone's gonna knock on the door."
As if on cue, a loud knocking begins on our door. Mark goes to the door. As he opens it, I hear someone, I think Shane, ask, "Are you busy right now?"
Mark's hand goes through his hair. "Yeah," he replies, "but what do you want?" He steps out into the hallway, closing the door behind him.
I frown, pick up the TV remote, and turn on the TV to some channel. "This is getting difficult," I say aloud, and change the channel. The phone rings again. I pick it up, and say into the mouthpiece, "Hello, Jess Curtis speaking. Who is this?"
No one answers; there's only heavy breathing on the other end. "Hello?" I say again, getting a little paranoid. "I'm gonna call the cops!" I hear a click, and emptiness. "Damn pranksters," I whisper, shaken a bit.
Five minutes later, Mark walks back into the room. "Shane needed some help with something," he explains as he sits down beside me.
"Someone prank called," I tell him. "They didn't say anything, but I could hear heavy breathing on the other end." I look down at my folded hands. "It reminds me of things-"
The phone's ringing suddenly interrupts me. Mark gives me a quizzical look, and picks up the phone, saying, "Hello?" After a few moments, he shouts out, "Listen here, punk. When I find out where you live, I'm gonna beat you a bloody pulp, and not even God himself will recognize you!" He slams down the receiver. "I think it was the same guy," he says to me.
I scoot closer to his warm body. "I hate people like that," I reply, pressing my forehead against his chest.
Mark begins rubbing my back. "It happens all the time," he says soothingly, "just not twice in a row." Silence prevails in the room.
We stay like this for an hour, before Mark says, "We better start getting ready." I nod, sit up, and rub my eyes. I watch as Mark begins to put a few things into his wrestling bag.
Again, knocking comes to the door. I jump off the bed, and beat Mark to the door. I open it to see Steph standing in front of me. "Just wanted to tell you that the limos are waiting in the lot out front," she says, and walks down the hall.
I close the door. "Ready?" I ask Mark as he walks toward me with his bag in hand. He nods, and I quickly grab my mini-backpack and keycard before we leave the room. Silently, we make our way to the lobby, and through the front doors. Directly in front of us is a long, black limo, just waiting for us, it seems.
The chauffer, a short, plump, balding man, steps out from the driver's seat, and comes around to open the door. I get in first, sitting by the opposite door, and wait for Mark to get in. The chauffer closes the door, and hurries to his open door. Once the chauffer starts the engine, the limo pulls away from the curb.
I look around the spacious vehicle, noticing for the first time how comfy the seats are. There is another bench seat on the opposite side, and a tiny bar with little bottles of liquor, and a monstrous sound system in between the seats. There is a phone beside both benches. The windows to the limo are tinted on the outside, the floor is covered with a thin, red carpet, and the seats are red leather.
The ride to the Reunion Arena is quiet as well. I'm not much for talking anymore, anyway; the prank calls have my nerves on the fritz. Once we arrive, Vince briefly talks to Mark before whisking me away with him to the McMahon quarters. Shane, Steph, and Hunter are there as we walk through the door; Shane alone on the loveseat, and Steph sitting on Hunter's lap in one of the two chairs.
I quietly sit down beside Shane, trying not to shake too hard. I guess I didn't try that hard because everyone looks at me with concern. "What's wrong, Jess?" Vince asks. "You're shaking."
I look up at the four faces surrounding me. "It's nothing," I tell them. "Just cold." Accepting the lie, they settle back into their seats, and talk about what they want to happen for the show.
As the discussion leads to the main event, my mind begins to churn out a few ideas of my own. "I've got a couple of ideas of my own I'd like to use," I add to the conversation.
All heads turn toward me. "Well, what are they?" Shane asks anxiously.
I shake my head, and smile. "For me to know, and you all to see later," I tell them, ready to make them see me for what I want them to.
Hours later, a cameraman walks in, and begins taping the segment where the McMahon's sign the bigger matches for the night, with a rematch between Triple H and the Undertaker. Another title match, except this one is a regular match. My part during the segment is smiling smugly by Shane's side, and laughing as Shane says, "Triple H will get him back for even thinking of touching you, Jess."
Time rolls by quickly, and before I realize it, it's time for the main event. Again, the McMahon's and I accompany Triple H to the ring, and Vince, Shane, and I sit at the commentary table to provide our own input. Mark comes down to the ring, and the match begins.
Nearly five minutes later, the rest of DX show up again, but stay outside the ring. I'm about to comment when Shane scooted me up on his lap, closer to him. This little action, meant to be harmless and more of a part of the 'dating' act, makes me uncomfortable. A thought pops into my mind. "Shane, I'm gonna go get a closer look, all right?" I ask him through the mic. Shane nods, and lets go of me as I take off the headset.
I join Steph by the ring, and talk about the match in whispers. A few minutes later, we distract the ref as DX helps Triple H nearly decapitate Mark with a chair. Suddenly, the ref turns back to the match, sees the disruption, and wildly shakes his arm in the air, followed by a bell ringing. DX pays no attention; as the McMahon's and I climb into the ring, they are still beating Mark with various moves and the chair.
Yet again, Mark overcomes the beating, gets back to his feet, and begins to fight back. The rest of the group scatters, but I stand my ground. Mark walks around the ring, threatening everyone, but comes upon me in the middle of the ring, tapping my toe impatiently. He begins to threaten me, but I cut him off. "Who do you think you are?" I start shouting. "Think you can just hurt a woman and get away with it, huh?" I watch as his look changes from confused to annoyed. "You don't wanna mess with this chick!" I yell as I bring my hand to his face. I slap him, not hard enough to sting, but enough to be heard.
Mark grabs my throat immediately. "You're gonna pay for that!" he retaliates.
I taunt him. "Yeah, go ahead and hurt me," I tell him, not struggling. "What's it gonna do to your image, huh? If you wanna be labeled a woman beater, be my guest. The others will avenge for me. Just try to mess with this." I stand before him, his hand around my throat, but I'm not scared this time.
He seems to know what I'm trying to accomplish because his eyes soften ever so slightly, and his grip loosens. Mark lets go of my throat, and with a long stare, he exits the ring. He and I have a staring contest until he goes backstage. I follow him as the people shout their feelings.
I meet Mark and the others backstage, and each has this little smirk plastered on their lips. "So?" I ask the group, and they just start laughing. "Well, I didn't think it was that funny!"
"Looks like you're taking control of this storyline instead of the writers," Vince comments through his laughter.
I shake my head in amusement. "Don't want control, just wanna get it moving," I say to them. "Can't stand anything too slow."
After more laughs on my little act, we all say our good-byes, and go to the dressing rooms. Soon afterward, Mark and I catch a limo back to the hotel. Silence takes over us again. We reach our room before I feel I have to break the soundless conversation. "Mark, I don't want to stay here any longer than we have to," I finally say as we enter.
"Why?" Mark asks.
I step into the bathroom to draw a hot bath. "Those phone calls just kinda shook me up. Besides, I'd feel a lot better to be at home; I'm not one for a lot of traveling right now."
I come out of the bathroom to gather my nightclothes. Mark stands at the foot of the bed, a weird look about him. "All right, if it makes you feel better to be home, we'll leave tomorrow." Gratefully, I throw my arms around him, hugging him tightly, and gather my clothing as I wander back into the bathroom.
********
As Mark promised, we go home as soon as we finish breakfast. The taxi ride is almost unbearable. Thankfully, four and a half hours pass by quickly. Once the taxi arrives in front of our house, I jump out of the vehicle, race to the front door, and nearly break the door down. Safely inside, my nerves come back toward the normal pace. Being able to breath normally, I check the answering machine for messages.
There are two: one from state counsel about stopping the check-ups from Ms. Zellia; the second from Rita, who called just a few minutes before. Picking up the phone, I dial her number. "Hello?" comes her voice from the other end.
"Hey, Rita," I say into the phone, "I just got in. What did you need to talk to me about?"
"Jeeze, if I waited a few minutes, I would've caught ya!" she replies. "Some guy called here, asking about you. Said he needed to talk to you about something real important. I gave him your number, and told him that I didn't know when you'd be back. He said that he needed your address; it was too important for a phone conversation."
Nerves jumbling and tangling all over again, I ask her in a whisper, "You didn't give it to him, did you?"
Rita sighs, and says, "I told him I didn't have it. He kept calling back, and I had no choice. I'm really sorry, Jess. The guy was buggin' me."
"You didn't call the police?" I ask.
"Nope. I don't like getting mixed up with them; you know that." she responds. "If you want me to, I'll call them for you if you ever need it."
A dull pain in my head begins to throb and sharpen. "No, it's all right. I'm sure I can handle it." I tell her. "Want me to come and get Harley?"
"If it's okay, I'll bring her over," she says. "I wanna see you. It's been almost forever." We laugh. "See you in a few!"
"See ya!" I reply, and hang up the phone.
Arms circle around me almost as soon as the phone hits the cradle, and involuntarily, I jump from the touch of flesh. Turning around, Mark places his hands firmly on my shoulders. "What now?" he asks.
The headache sharpens again, and tears stream down my face from the pain and paranoia. "Some guy wanted to talk to me, and he's got our phone number and address, and…" I trail off as sobs creep into my throat. Mark brings my body to his, almost crushing us together into one. Weeping like the weak woman I am, I bury my face into his shirt. "Oh, God," I whisper through my sobs, "he's come back."
"Who's come back?" Mark asks, his soothing voice coming through his chest.
I pull away. "Someone," I reply, rubbing my red and puffy eyes until they hurt. "Can we just drop the subject?"
The doorbell rings, and I brush past him to reach the door. Opening it wide, Rita, with Kiara in her arms and Harley beside her, stands before me, an apologetic smile on her lips. I step out of the way to let her in, and grab Harley by the collar, bringing her in. "I'm really sorry about that guy," Rita apologizes again as she puts Kiara down on the carpet. "Either way, if he really wanted to, he would've found out your address."
I close the door, let go of Harley, and rub my eyes again. "It's okay, Rita, I understand," I tell her.
She looks over at Mark, as if seeing him for the first time. "Oh, hey Mark. I didn't see you standing there." she says to him.
"Hi," he replies, kneeling down to scratch Harley's head. Standing upright again, he pats his thigh, and Harley follows Mark down to the basement.
Rita turns back to me after picking Kiara back up. "What's with him?" she asks as she sits on the sofa, grabbing a bottle out of the diaper bag.
I sit next to her. "Nothing," I reply. "I kinda broke down after we hung up. I wouldn't tell him anything about who I think it could be."
"I wouldn't, and don't, wanna know," Rita tells me, cradling Kiara in her arms as she feeds her. "My only suggestion is to stay in this house with a couple of people. Always keep a phone handy."
"Thanks, Rita," I say back. "At least you've got a level head."
After Kiara finishes the bottle, and Rita burps her, Rita says, "So, tell me about your trip."
We talk into the late afternoon, when Rita realizes that Michael is home alone. We say our good-byes, and I stand out on the porch, watching them leave. For a few hours, I sit on the porch steps, just thinking and enjoying the night's breeze. Finally, hunger pains shift into my stomach, and I go back into the house to eat.
********
Monday comes slowly, and the wait seems painful. I distance myself from everyone, not wanting to blow up and cause more pain than anyone deserves. From the news that some guy was looking for me, my nerves were on end, and hoping against everything that he didn't come. He doesn't, thank God, but my nerves still won't calm down. My paranoia has gotten so bad, Mark opts to sleep in a guest room. It's then I realize how hard all this has been on him, seeing me flip out like I have.
Monday finally arrives, and after I shower, I pack our suitcases. Once I make sure that I have everything I need, and Mark's wrestling stuff is all packed as well, I sneak across the hall to the guest room Mark's sleeping in. I ease open the door, not wanting to wake him. The sheets and comforter are on the carpet, and his sleeping form is in the middle of the bed, his back turned to me. 'Why do I push him away,' I think as I lean against the door-jam, 'especially when I need him most?'
Sighing, I walk across the room to the bed, and sit down beside his knees. Walking my fingers over his body, I say aloud, "Sleeping Beauty, it's time to awaken for the ball."
Mark's eyes open a little, and close again. "Sleeping Beauty didn't get kissed yet," he replies groggily. Smiling, I bend over, and kiss his lips. His eyes open again. "I'm still not gonna get up."
I give him a punch. "It's Monday, and we've gotta catch a plane," I tell him. "If you don't get up on your own accord, I will be forced to call in the authorities."
Snuggling back into his pillow, Mark responds, "What authorities have you got that would get me out of this bed?"
Smugly, I reply, "I've got my ways." I poke at him continuously, poking harder each time. "You better get up, or I'll keep poking."
Mark grabs my hands, and pulls me down beside him. "Now what are ya gonna do?" he asks.
"I don't know," I reply, feeling him release his grip. "I could just let you starve, 'cause if you don't get up, the dog gets your breakfast." Quickly, I slip out of the bed, and run through the door, knowing he'll get up if his breakfast is at stake.
I clomp down the stairs, and to the kitchen. I let Harley into the house, and feed her first before preparing our breakfast. A few minutes later, Mark ambles into the kitchen, and we eat while joking with each other, like we always had before.
********
Many hours later, we arrive at the airport in Baton Rouge. The trip over was a calming effect on my screwed up nerves, and I was glad to just sit and relax. Exiting the airport, we are greeted by a chauffer. Confirming who we were, he ushers us into the limo, and drives us to the arena. "Late, I suppose," Mark comments as the limo exits the lot.
The limo pulls into the arena lot just minutes later. Immediately, we go our separate ways; Mark on his way toward his dressing room, and I in search of the McMahon's. Luckily, I run into Shane during my little frenzy, and he takes me to the office room they're using.
We follow a cameraman into the office. After all the hello's and such, the cameraman cues us, and we get into our places. As soon as the camera starts to record, we begin making matches for the night: Chris Jericho versus Chris Benoit; the Rock versus X-Pac and Road Dogg; and lastly, Undertaker versus a few mystery opponents. "We'll have quite a few surprises for the Undertaker," Vince says, and everyone laughs menacingly.
Once the cameraman leaves, Vince tells me, "I've had the little camera we use for G-TV segments set up. The way you've taken control of this story line, I'm sure you'll be needing tonight." I blush slightly at his intentions.
Later that night, when it comes time for Mark's match, a cameraman stays with Shane and I in the back, as we watch the match on TV. "This'll teach that bastard a lesson he's been needing," Shane comments as we sit on the sofa.
The entrance music of the Undertaker hits, and Mark rides another beautiful bike to the ring. After circling the ring, he parks the bike, and climbs between the ropes. He acquires a mic, and turns toward the entrance. "You can throw all your little pussies at me, Shane," he says. "I'll just knock 'em all down, and then come for your ass!"
An entrance theme sounds, and ten men come racing down the ramp; Andrew, Albert, Val Venis, Road Dogg, X-Pac, Chris Benoit, Adam, Christian, Big Boss Man, and Kurt Angle. All attack Mark as soon as they clamor into the ring, not even giving him time to prepare himself. As all ten men beat down on him, he can't fight back. After a few minutes, Vince comes down the ramp, and into the ring. He then punches and kicks Mark a few times, and covers him for the pin.
In the back, where Shane and I are, I comment, "Well, Shane, looks like we got the best of him. That was a great plan."
He nods, and says, "Yep. Aren't you glad we thought of it?"
I smile, nod, and reply, "Now that that's over, I've got to the ladies' room. Be right back." I stand up, and walk out of the room. The first backstage person I see, I grab him by the arm, and ask, "Do you know where Taker's room is?"
He nods, and points down the hall. "His logo should be on the door," he says.
"'Kay, thanks," I reply, and head down the hall. As he said, the door has a logo with 'Undertaker' on it. I enter the room, closing the door behind myself. I look around, trying to figure out where they had the little camera placed. Giving up my search, I jump up a little onto a countertop. As I sit, waiting for Mark to come through, I think back to the past week. 'I was such a paranoid bitch,' I think to myself.
Finally, the door opens, and Mark walks in. "What are you doing here?" he asks, surprise in his voice. "Come to beat me down, too?" He closes the door.
"Cut the act," I simply state. "You don't gotta be such a bad ass when we're alone."
Mark walks toward me, saying, "You sure you weren't followed?"
I nod, and answer, "Positive. Shane thinks I'm in the restroom." Mark leans toward me, placing his hands near my thighs on the countertop. "You know, I could barely watch the match. It's awful what they're doing to you."
"Don't worry," he replies, his voice becoming softer. "It's nothing compared to the screw job we're pulling on them."
I smile, and kiss his lips. My lips linger longest on his fuller bottom lip. Once our faces come apart, I whisper to him, "I need a shower."
"So do I," he replies. "Maybe I'll join you."
"If you want to," I respond, smile coyly, and slide off the counter. I walk toward the shower, hoping that I'm out of the camera shot.
The door opens yet again, and some backstage person comes in. "All right, we've got the segment. Great stuff, Mark." he says, then leaves the room.
I come back out. "Well, you up for that shower?" I ask him. He gives me a look that says 'As if you need to ask.' I smile at him, and curl my index toward me. He follows me into the shower area, peeling off his shirt on the way.
********
