by Pat White
“What’s the matter with Crazy Joey?” Teddy asked.
Sullivan disappeared from view.
“Who knows? Probably got in a fight with that neurotic niece of his,” Jack said.
“Neurotic?” Tiger Lady said.
“Uptight, rigid, anal retentive. Take your pick.”
“Frankie seemed okay to me.”
“She’s anything but okay.”
The gym door flew open. Sullivan navigated through the exercise equipment like he was running an obstacle course. He stopped short of Jack, completely out of breath.
“They eloped. Got drunk in Vegas…tried to take over Wayne Newton’s show…sleeping it off in jail. They can’t get to Milwaukee. The show starts in four hours!”
“Slow down, what are you talking about?” Jack said.
“Eve and Neurosis! Come on, I have a limo waiting. You’ll have to fill in. Both of you.” He grabbed Tatianna’s arm.
“But I can’t—”
“I have no one else!” Sully cried, pulling her toward the exit.
“Sullivan, I’m not supposed to get back in the ring for ten days,” Jack said.
“No fighting, no fighting. Come, come!”
Sully was desperate. Jack smelled victory. A major screw-up tonight would prove the error of Sully’s plans. They’d drop the Tiger-Cowboy script and chase some other crazy storyline.
“Billings has the costumes,” Sully said, leading Tatianna by the arm. “Maxine will ride with you. Two hours, only two hours away.”
Billings shoved a sweatshirt at Jack as they followed Sully and Tiger Lady to the waiting limousine.
“Your gear’s already in the limo,” Billings said.
“Gee, thanks, Bill,” Jack said.
Tatianna climbed inside, and Jack heard her greet Maxine. He hesitated before climbing in.
“But Sully, Tiger Lady has no experience,” he said, laying the groundwork. They’d never know what hit them.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got everything under control,” Sully said. “You just get there. We’ll be right behind you.”
Jack smiled. “Anything for you, boss.”
The promoter’s jaw dropped.
Jack climbed into the limo and Sully ducked his head inside. “Maybe I should ride with you.”
“We’ll be fine,” Jack said.
Sully narrowed his eyes at Jack and glanced at Tatianna. “Be careful.”
Jack put his arm around Tiger Lady and pulled her close. “Don’t worry, Sullivan. I’ll take real good care of her.”
Chapter Six
She was going to die, right here, in the middle of fifteen thousand screaming fans on prime-time television. Frankie was going to drop more than a hundred feet from the Milwaukee City Arena catwalk to the middle of the ring.
Splat.
At least it would boost ratings.
The boom of fireworks shot panic through her veins as she gripped the metal rail with trembling, gloved fingers.
“You’ll go down slow and easy, like in Raleigh,” the stunt director explained.
“You launched me into a pool of green gelatin in Raleigh,” Jack growled.
“Yeah, good thing we made it kinda stiff.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I checked the harness. You’re all set. You’ve got three safety hooks.”
“What about hers?”
“Her what?”
“Her harness, stupid.”
“I only got one. She’s going down with you.”
“What the hell, man! She needs her own gear.”
“We were lucky to get your equipment on such short notice. Had to pull some major strings.”
He gripped the roadie by his tattered Grateful Dead T-shirt. “Pull some more strings and get her some gear.”
“Uh, I’d like to, dude, I really would. But you’re scheduled to drop in fifteen.”
He released the kid with such force he landed a couple of feet away. “Do you have any idea whether the harness will even hold both of us?”
“It should.” The roadie tentatively reached out and secured the hooks to Jack’s harness. “It held the Basher at Melee in the Park and he weighs over four hundred pounds. You weigh in at 250, and this one”—he eyed Frankie—“she can’t be more than a hundred forty.”
“One hundred and twenty six, thank you very much.” Good God, she was arguing about her weight.
“You’re all set. The lights will go off in about ten minutes. Then Prince will do his introduction.” The roadie put his hand on the metal gate. “Pop the button like this.” The door swung open.
Her stomach plummeted.
“And off you go. You’ll float down like a feather, no problem.”
“And what’s to cushion our fall if there is a problem?” Jack asked.
The kid shrugged. “My job’s done once you take flight. I’m sure they’ve got cushioning under the ring or something.” With a nod, he shoved a screwdriver into his tool belt and backed away.
“We’re going to die,” she whispered.
“Stop it.” Jack scanned the crowd below.
“Why?” She studied his profile.
“Because it will drive you crazy. These guys are professionals. They know what they’re doing.”
“No, I mean why do you do this?”
He glanced at her, incredible sadness tinting his green eyes.
“Oh, God, you know it too, don’t you?” she said.
He pulled her against his chest. “Sully won’t let anything happen to us. We’re too profitable. We’re the flavor of the week, kid.”
“Then why did you look at me like that?” she muttered into his jacket, comforted by the smell of leather.
“Like what?”
“You looked so... sad.” She glanced up at him.
“You’re imagining things,” he said, avoiding eye contact. She knew at that moment that he was as nervous as she was about performing the stunt.
“Didn’t you know I jumped out of airplanes for a living before I became a wrestler?” he joked.
She smiled at his attempt to distract her, but the moment wore off and she started to shake again. Everywhere.
“Shhh.” With a solid arm around her shoulders he held her close.
She clung to the supple leather, thinking maybe if she held on tight enough she could will away her embarrassing reaction. “I don’t usually shake like this.”
“Relax, sweetheart. I had to clock forty hours of stunt training before they’d let me do this trick. Still can’t believe they’ve turned me into a damned stunt man,” he muttered.
“How many times have you done it with a partner?”
He shot her a wry smile. In other words, none.
A new wave of tremors wracked her body. Her teeth began to chatter.
“Think about something else,” he said. “It’ll take your mind off the jitters.”
Her mind went completely blank.
“April 15, 1994,” he said.
“Wha-what’s that?”
“National championships. My first time away from home. I was seventeen, went with the coach to Denver. There was a whole other world outside of Carver, Missouri. I’ll never forget seeing the Rocky Mountains for the first time.”
Studying his expression, the faraway look in his eyes, she knew he was remembering a better time.
He blinked and cleared his throat. “Anyway…that’s what I think about when I’m trying to stay sane.
They clung to each other in silence for a good minute and her trembling slowed to a steady pulse.
“Your turn,” he said.
“My life’s pretty boring, actually.”
“You call this boring?”
A whimper-laugh escaped her lips. “Stop teasing me.”
“Is that what I’m doing?” He shot her a full-dimpled smile, and she warmed inside.
“All right, then, if this is our last performance, we should bare all,” he said, lightheartedly. “I’ll tell you how I stole Samantha Smith’s milk mo
ney in the third grade to buy a Hulk Hogan comic book, and you tell me what Sully’s got on you to make you dress like a feline and do suicide jumps for a living.”
“True confessions, is that it?”
“Works for me. Either that or make one up.”
Looking into his eyes, she wanted to tell him the truth, that the woman he held in his arms was really his mortal enemy, the Franken Niece. She glanced at the ring below and decided the drop was too far to chance it.
“If I knew you better I’d guess you’ve got something big brewing behind those baby blues,” he said. “Then again, I don’t know you at all, do I?”
“I…you…I’m sorry,” she said.
“What are you sorry about?”
Lying. Manipulating. Being an all-around crumb.
“The other night,” she said, recovering. “Making you lose the championship belt.”
“It’s okay. Part of the fun is getting it back.”
“But you were so angry. Frankie told me the things you said.”
He looked away. “The first thing you should learn is never to trust anyone in that family. They’re like piranha. They’ll eat you alive.”
She swallowed the ball in her throat. Now was definitely not the time to confess her true identity.
“You didn’t answer my question,” she said, trying to redirect the conversation.
“Which one?”
“About why you do this.”
“Why do you do this?”
“Stop avoiding the question.”
He glanced across the auditorium and smiled, but it didn’t quite make it to his eyes. “Wrestling has been my life for the past twenty years. I guess you could say amateur wrestling saved my life. But professional wrestling...it’s changed. I don’t recognize it anymore.” He ran his hand back and forth across her shoulders in a comforting motion. “Anyway, it’s time to get out, time for a new life.”
“What kind of life?”
“Whatever I want. The world’s wide open once I get out of this circus. I’m going to do things and try things I’ve never been able to because of my tour schedule. And I won’t have to answer to anybody, especially not Sully.”
That familiar knot tightened in her stomach. Another irresponsible male like Dad.
The arena suddenly went black and she involuntarily dug her fingernails into his leather jacket.
“Calm down, sweetheart. It will be over soon.”
Sure it would. She could picture the headlines: FINANCIAL ADVISOR LEADS DOUBLE LIFE AS CAT WOMAN: PLUNGES TO DEATH IN THE ARMS OF WRESTLING COWBOY.
Good God, what will Bradley think? And what about her mother?
“That’s our cue,” he said, standing. She clutched his jacket with white-knuckled fingers.
“You’re fine. Just hang on. Wrap your legs around my waist.”
“But—”
“Come on, trust me.”
He cupped her behind with firm hands and pulled her against his chest. Following his lead, she locked her spiked heels around his waist and gripped his shoulders.
The spotlight blinded her, giving her a sneak preview of the journey to heaven. At least that’s where she hoped she’d end up.
“Ready?” he said.
“N-N-No,” Frankie mumbled between uncontrollable sobs. Good thing she wore little eye makeup this time. She hoped her contact lenses didn’t fall out. Not that anyone would notice her eye color at the wake.
“Look at me,” he said.
She glanced into his powerful green eyes.
And he kissed her. Just like that. Without warning or permission or any of the traditional preludes to such an intimate act. It was an incredible kiss, filled with the sultry male taste of Black Jack Hudson. His soft lips coaxed a response, and she automatically opened to him.
Somewhere in the recesses of her mind she heard blaring music and screaming fans, but they were far away, as if on another planet.
She deepened the kiss, knocking off his hat to run her hands through his long, dark hair. She couldn’t get enough of him as she floated on passion’s wings, lightheaded with a kind of drugged desire she’d only read about in books.
Their tongues mated and danced, sending shock waves of awareness all the way down to her toes. She felt like she could fly, but she didn’t dare let go. No, she wanted to hold on to this feeling to the bitter end.
What a way to go.
Her head spun and she shifted her hips to hug Jack’s waist even tighter. She was acting wanton and crazed. And it felt good. Damned good.
Jack’s hand pressed against the small of her back and slipped down to cradle her behind. He smelled amazing, a mixture of leather and spice tantalized her senses, and he tasted even better, like a rare fruit, sweet but tart.
He broke the kiss, and she moaned in protest.
“The shuttle has landed,” he said in a hoarse voice.
“What?” She struggled to breathe, her gaze locked on to his swollen lips. Lips she wanted to taste again.
“You can let go now.”
She didn’t want to let go. She belonged right here in his arms, enjoying another blast of passion from his lips.
“It’s over,” he said.
“I don’t understand.” She didn’t hear a choir of angels or see the pearly gates open in greeting. She glanced at the catwalk above her. Then she peered over his shoulder. The fans waved signs, screamed, and practically jumped from their seats.
“We’re down?” she said, still dazed. “I don’t believe it.”
“It’s for real. We’re fine.”
“We’re fine,” she repeated.
But she wasn’t fine. Her heart pounded an erratic beat, her brain buzzed with adrenaline or passion, or both.
He gently untangled her legs and kissed her on the forehead.
“You’re okay,” he murmured, peeling her off him.
“You kissed me,” she said, still in shock.
“I had to get you down somehow.” He winked and unhooked himself from the harness.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer boomed, walking up beside Jack. “WHAK’s favorite couple, Black Jack Hudson and Tatianna the Tigress!”
The roar echoed off the ceiling, ricocheted off the seats and vibrated against her eardrums. She watched Jack strut to the corner, straddle the bottom and middle ropes and raise his hat to salute the fans.
He kissed her. With a kind of passion and heat she didn’t think possible.
Because he’d needed her to make the jump—a jump that could have killed them both.
Anger simmered in her belly, eating away the passion of a moment ago. She stormed a wobbly path across the ring, ripped off her right glove and tapped him on the shoulder. He stepped down from the ropes and turned to her, a grin lighting his eyes. A grin she planned to wipe right off that handsome face. She wound up and let him have it with an open palm to his cheek.
“What the hell?” He put up his hand as if expecting her to strike him again.
“You kissed me!”
“Yeah? So?”
“To distract me?”
“It worked didn’t it?”
She wound up for another swing. He grabbed her wrist before she could make contact.
“We don’t want fans getting the wrong idea about our relationship, babe.”
“You stupid, ignorant, jerk! We could have been killed!”
“We would have been killed with you shaking like that. You would have slipped right out of my arms.”
He had a point. He managed to get her down in one piece, basically saving her life.
No, this wasn’t her life. Her life was back in Boston analyzing financial proposals and investing company funds. Her life revolved around her career, Friday night dinners with Bradley and monthly lunches at the Urban Professional Women’s Club. Her life included checking the financial section of the paper every morning and planning her vacations for the next ten years. Door County this year, Mexico the next. Maybe she’d even fit Hawaii into her
schedule for 2018.
Her life.
And she’d almost lost it helping her uncle with his ridiculous, unreal business.
She spun on her heel and headed for the opposite end of the ring.
“Where the hell are you going?” he called after her.
“Home!”
“But you can’t leave now,” the referee said, chasing her down and gripping her elbow. “We’re about to start. The cameras are rolling.”
“News flash. I’m done.”
“No, that’s not in the script!” He dragged her to center ring. She stumbled alongside him.
“Get your hands off her!” Jack yanked the ref’s hand off her arm and she fell backward, landing on her fanny.
“But she can’t leave. He’s here!” the ref protested.
“Who’s here?” Jack said.
Organ pipes blared a traditional march across the sound system. A man dressed in black carrying an open Bible paced slowly toward the ring. The referee helped him through the ropes. Frankie stared, dumbfounded.
“Come on. Let’s get this over with,” Jack muttered, offering his hand.
“I should be dead. Instead I’m marrying a complete stranger.”
“I wouldn’t call us complete strangers.” He shot her that charming smile and her tummy did a backflip. This man was dangerous, and about to become her husband, or her pretend husband.
“I can’t do this,” she said.
“You also said you couldn’t jump from the catwalk.”
“You tricked me.”
“I kissed you.”
“Same difference.”
“Actually, it’s not a bad story line if you ask me,” he said.
“I didn’t.”
“On your feet, Tiger Lady.”
Jack grabbed her by the arms and lifted her to her feet. Damn. The girl really looked nervous, as if the thought of marrying Black Jack Hudson terrified her beyond words.
It wasn’t like this was a real marriage. Not that the marriage to Sandra was real. His brain had been too pickled with lust to spot the train wreck around the corner. After three long years he’d finally figured out that Sandra loved the fame, not the man, and that’s when Jack had realized he would never find love or have a normal life as long as he was a celebrity pro wrestler.
“I don’t like this,” Tiger Lady said as the minister stepped toward them.