Got A Hold On You (Ringside Romance)

by Pat White

  “Snakes are poisonous!” he defended.

  “Not all snakes,” Max said.

  “Forget the reptile lecture,” Frankie said. “I refuse to be intimidated by these idiots.”

  Another blast busted a two-foot hole in the center of the door.

  “I’m ready.” Max gripped the putter with firm, bony hands.

  “Wait until security comes,” Sully cried. “They’re violent men. Their snakes are deadly. And the wrestler with the tuba? He’s keeps knives in there. He throws them at those wiggling creatures.”

  “Is this a circus or a wrestling promotion?” Frankie demanded.

  They both looked at her. Neither answered.

  “Out of my way.” As she marched toward the door, a large, hairy head popped through the opening.

  “Sully! We want a contract,” demanded the beast with one eyebrow growing across his forehead.

  “What you’re going to get is a concussion if you don’t get the hell out of this building,” Frankie said, wielding the bookend.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “I’m the Franken Niece. And you’re going to be unconscious in a minute. Now get out.”

  “You won’t be singing that tune when we drop our sneaky friends in there.” He backed out of the hole. “Give me the girls,” he called to his partner.

  She scanned the office for a better weapon and her gaze landed on Sully’s prized machete. It surprised her none of the guys had used it to slice up their boss before now.

  So the snake charmers wanted to play hardball? Fine. She snatched the machete from its mount.

  “Frankie! What are you doing?” Sully said.

  “Putting an end to this.”

  “That’s not a toy. I brought it back from the Orient. It’s a real weapon.”

  “Good.” Frankie glanced at Maxine, whose blue eyes beamed with pride.

  With a firm, two-handed grip Frankie raised the sword over her shoulder.

  “Here they come, ready or not.” A maniacal voice boomed from the other side of the door. Two burly hands slipped a thick bag through the hole.

  “I hear snake is delicious when cooked over an open flame, isn’t that right, Sully?” she said.

  The burly hands froze and yanked the bag from the hole. The hairy beast stuck his head through the hole and his eyes bulged at the sight of Frankie wielding the weapon.

  “What are you gonna do with that?” he said.

  “Make mincemeat out of your gift.”

  His skin paled beneath the mound of facial hair. “You’d really cut up Puffy and Minx?”

  “Well, I’m sure as hell not going to use them in our show. I have to draw the line somewhere, and this is it.”

  “All we want is a contract.” His voice softened.

  “Contrary to what some people think, we’re a wrestling organization, not a circus. Come back when you learn how to fall and get up again fifty times in a row, or when you can show me a proper full nelson, arm bar, or drop-toe hold.”

  “But—”

  “Does the word ‘decapitated’ mean anything to you?” she said, winding up.

  “I’m going, I’m going.” He retreated. “If you ever change your mind…” he said from the other side of the door.

  “We’ll look in the yellow pages under ‘reptiles.’”

  She heard the scuffle of security men, a few grunts, then silence. A guard poked his head through the hole in the door.

  “Everyone okay?”

  “Peachy.” She propped the machete against the wall.

  “Let’s get this out of the way.” Max pushed the credenza and Frankie helped.

  Frankie brushed off her hands and picked at the splintered door where the snake men had busted through. What a joke, the whole damn thing.

  Sully wasn’t her uncle. There was no real connection between Frankie and Joe Sullivan.

  Except the panic in her gut when she’d thought Pugsy and the snakes were sent to crush his kneecaps, and the memories of presents wrapped with pink bows, like her favorite, the Easy-Bake Oven. Orange cakes were her specialty and sheer torture for Uncle Joe. She’d never forget the pained look on his face as he masticated the horrible concoction. He didn’t have to do that. He also didn’t have to take her to Red Sox games or the ballet, where he snored in harmony with the orchestra.

  He didn’t have to do any of it.

  But he did because he loved her like his own daughter.

  And the irony of it all was…she loved him back.

  “I can’t believe this,” she whispered to herself as reality hit her like a ton of bricks. It doesn’t matter who a person is or what he does. If you love him, you love him.

  It didn’t matter that Joe Sullivan wasn’t her real uncle, that he was a crazy old shyster whose scruples were questionable most of the time. She loved him anyway.

  And she loved Jack, even though he was a comic book hero, a “phony wrestler” with no set future. There was nothing phony about his pain, or his determination to be a good role model for kids.

  She glanced at Sully, who was chewing his bottom lip.

  “I love you, you big jerk.” She crossed the room, wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but it was love. And it was real. “Okay, Uncle Joe. Where do we go from here?”

  Pushing away from him, she spied the gleam in Maxine’s eyes.

  “Come here, Max. You’re as much a part of this as I am, if not more so.”

  Uncle Joe pressed a handkerchief to his eyes, then his forehead, as if wiping sweat from his brow.

  “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you, Francine. I’d be all alone,” he said with a hitch in his voice.

  “Aren’t we a pair of blockheads.” Frankie put her arm around him and nodded at Max. “Look at that gorgeous lady. You think she sews costumes and cleans up after you because you’re paying her the big bucks?”

  “Big bucks?” he said, reaching for his ledger. “I thought we negotiated a three-percent raise last year.” Frankie flattened her palm on the paperwork. “Uncle Joe, stop thinking with your head and start seeing with your heart.”

  He glanced at Frankie and his eyes grew wide. Then he looked at Max. The former Women’s Champ actually blushed.

  “But Max, you’ve always been so critical and bossy. You seemed mad at me all these years.”

  “That’s because you sell yourself short. You’re a good man, Joseph Sullivan. It’s time you acted like one.”

  “Joseph. No one’s called me Joseph since third grade.” His eyes shone with awe and wonder, as if seeing her for the first time.

  “Maxine, would you like to go out for dinner tonight?” he said.

  “Jumpin’ Jupiter, it only took you thirty years to ask.”

  He burst out laughing and Frankie realized she’d rarely heard that sound. Screams, sure. Howls, squawks, even shrieks, but not laughter.

  “Now that that’s settled, how is WHAK’s financial condition? You still need help?” She ambled to his desk.

  “Actually, things are looking up. Your three weeks here have really helped, especially this last week with the Tatianna angle.”

  Her heart ached and she glanced at the floor. It was definitely time to go.

  “Francine?” Uncle Joe whispered.

  “I’m fine. What about the Tatianna angle?”

  “We have advance orders for Black Jack and Tatianna action figures.”

  “Did I hear my name?”

  Her heart caught at the sound of Jack’s voice. She hadn’t seen him in days, but her body instantly reacted to that sultry timbre. She closed her eyes, willing herself to be calm. He didn’t love her, didn’t care about her. It shouldn’t matter.

  But it did. Her body ached to feel his hands roam across her skin, pleasure her until she couldn’t think straight.

  “Discussing merchandising strategy, Jack. Nothing that concerns you,” Uncle Joe said.

  “I heard there was trouble up here. Ev
eryone okay?”

  “I took care of it,” Max boasted.

  “I’ll bet you did.” He slid his arm around Max’s shoulder.

  Only then did Frankie look at him. A spear of pain sliced open her heart. He narrowed his eyes as if trying to read her thoughts.

  She broke the connection and studied Joe’s ledger.

  “Of course, Little Miss Pirate with her machete was a big help,” Max said.

  “Frankie?” Jack said. “I would have paid money to see that.”

  “Watch it or I’ll do a reenactment,” she shot back.

  They all laughed. Except Frankie.

  “Well, I’ve got good news,” Jack said to Uncle Joe. “It seems Sumptuous Sally wants back in. Her job as a topless dancer didn’t work out.”

  “Probably knocked out her customers with those double-D bosoms,” Max muttered.

  “I told her she’d be perfect to play Tatianna.”

  Frankie hadn’t thought she could hurt any more. She was wrong.

  “I figure Frank is out of the game since she’s going to be walking down the aisle soon. How about it? Want me to get Sally back for Friday’s show in Chicago?”

  Uncle Joe glanced at Frankie. “If Frankie thinks it’s a good idea.”

  She felt as if someone had stuck his hand in her chest and was ripping out her heart.

  This was the way it was supposed to be with Frankie leaving the business to marry Bradley, waking up at 6:37 every morning, flossing exactly seven times per tooth.

  No, she knew that no matter what came of all this she wasn’t marrying Bradley. Not next month, next year, or in the next lifetime.

  Swallowing the lump in her throat she grinned at Jack. “Fabulous. The sooner the better.”

  He didn’t care about her. He was happy to send her packing, ready to bring a new woman into the ring and into his bed. She fisted her hand behind her back.

  “It’s settled then,” Uncle Joe said. “And your contract, Jack?”

  “Go ahead and extend it for another two years with an option for a third.”

  Frankie’s heart skipped. “What?”

  Jack ignored her.

  “Two, maybe three years?” Sully repeated, disbelief in his voice.

  “Are you going to argue with me or sign me?”

  “Sign you, sign you.” Uncle Joe searched his desk and dug out a blank contract. He scribbled down the information and shoved it at Jack.

  “But I still expect my bonus at the end of my current contract.”

  “Of course.” Uncle Joe practically salivated as Jack signed his name.

  “And set me up in some easy matches for a while. The knee’s still not a hundred percent.”

  “Easy matches.” Uncle Joe leafed through a pile of papers. “Right, how about the Basher at The Spring Squash?”

  Jack looked at Maxine. “Why do I bother?”

  “Beats me.”

  Frankie studied his face, but he wouldn’t look at her. What was happening? His body would never last another six months, much less two years. What about his dream of painting and travel, his plans to live in the mountains?

  “Jack?” she said, at least she thought she spoke his name. But he didn’t so much as glance her way, and everyone kept talking, as if they were in a movie and Frankie had a nonspeaking role.

  “All right then.” He tapped on Uncle Joe’s desk with his knuckles and glanced at Frankie.

  Her breath caught. In slow motion he closed the distance between them, the heat from his body warming her skin. He leaned close, his lips nearly grazing her ear. She automatically reached out and dug her fingers into his biceps like he was a lifesaver and she was going down.

  “Go live your perfect life, sweetheart. Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him for you.”

  And then he kissed her. A gentle kiss that felt suspiciously like goodbye.

  By the time she got her wits back and opened her eyes he was gone.

  “Why did he do that?” she whispered, pressing her fingers to her lips.

  “Why does a man usually kiss a woman?” Max said.

  “No, not that. I meant, the contract. He needs to get out of this business. He won’t survive another two years.”

  “For a girl with two fancy degrees, you don’t have much sense.”

  “Maxine, don’t talk that way to my...to Francine,” Uncle Joe said.

  “Max?” She studied the older woman’s face, needing answers, feeling completely blindsided.

  “He did it for you, Lady Jane. Did anyone bother telling him that Pugsy and the snakes weren’t bag men for the mob?”

  Frankie looked at Uncle Joe. Uncle Joe looked at Max.

  “Didn’t think so,” Max said. “Jack’s putting his life on hold to protect your uncle so you can get your pretty little butt out of here and live your perfect life. That is what’s waiting out there for you, isn’t it? A perfect life with that pencil-pushing fiancé of yours?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Two days of introspection and a few tins of peppermints later, Frankie knew what she had to do. Dressed in faded blue jeans and the Hammerlock Championship T-shirt Maxine had given her, Frankie paced outside the south entrance to Lancaster Stadium. Bradley would show at any minute, clients in tow. Fanning herself with the ringside tickets, she took consolation in the fact that at least she was helping Bradley sink a lucrative deal before walking out of his life.

  “He’ll be okay,” she whispered. After all, the relationships mired in love were the hardest to survive. She wouldn’t exactly use the word “love” to describe her partnership with Bradley. It had dawned on her that partnering with Bradley was the business relationship, and loving Jack was anything but business.

  What would Jack do tonight when she climbed into the ring? Would he reject her? She pushed the thought aside. If Frankie had learned anything it was that what’s real is what’s in your heart. Her heart not only cried out for Jack, every minute of every day, but it also insisted he loved her as well.

  She belonged with him, whether that meant living in a mountain cabin or traveling the world to discover new sights to paint. One thing for sure, she wasn’t going to let him continue to abuse himself in the ring, regardless of his contract with Uncle Joe.

  What a mess they’d all tumbled into, but it was almost over. Time to cut the anchor and sail on life’s possibilities for once. She could do it.

  For Jack; for their love.

  The thought of her mother doing the right thing and being with a man who did not make her happy was a wake-up call for Frankie. Who would have thought that in the end professional wrestling would open Frankie’s eyes to what was real and what wasn’t? The irony made her smile.

  A black stretch limo pulled up to the curb and a handful of men stepped out. It was an hour before show time but Bradley liked being punctual, if not painstakingly early. Good old Bradley. She’d miss him in some ways, and not in others.

  “Francine!” he called out, escorting his business associates up the stairs. “These are the executives from Doodles: Bob, Kent, Phil, and Scott. Tom couldn’t come. His wife didn’t approve. Said the show was too racy. I told him he couldn’t be more wrong.”

  “I hope she’s not too wrong,” Kent muttered. The men chuckled.

  “It’s racy enough, don’t worry,” she said. “Here are the tickets. Bradley, I need a word with you.”

  “But Francine—”

  “He’ll be with you in a few minutes,” she said to the executives. They ambled toward the gate.

  “What’s this about?” Bradley said, watching his clients go on without him.

  “They’ll be fine. I want you to listen carefully to what I’m about to say.”

  “Can’t it wait? I hate letting them fend for themselves. This is very important.” He stopped and eyed the door.

  “So is our future.”

  “These men are part of our future.” He gripped her hands. “Now be a good girl and let me do my job so we can invest more money. I hav
e a feeling this is the year for diapers.” He winked and pulled her toward the gate. “You’ll be sitting with us, right, Sweetums?”

  “Actually, no. And Bradley?” She stopped and tugged on his arm until he turned to face her. “You’d better take this.” She placed the velvet box in his hand. “I have to go change for the show.”

  He stared at the box and glanced into her eyes. “Francine?”

  “I’m sorry, but this isn’t going to work. You, me, diaper stock.”

  He pursed his lips. “Your timing is awful.”

  “Is that all you can say?”

  “It’s a good thing there’s a six-month exchange policy at Smith and Wesson jewelers?”

  She burst out laughing. This wasn’t about love or passion. It was about Bradley getting a deal on the bargain of a lifetime: professional, talented, and potentially perfect wife, Frankie McGee.

  The old Frankie McGee.

  “I honestly don’t see what’s so funny.” He turned up his nose.

  “I’m sorry, you’re right.”

  “It’s that man, isn’t it? That wrestler?”

  “Actually, it’s about knowing the difference between what’s real and what’s scripted. I’ve been reading from a script my whole life. It’s time to get real.”

  He scrunched his nose in confusion.

  “Don’t worry, everything will be fine. You’ll impress your clients with front row seats, and they’ll sign on with the newest partner at Lundstrom, Marks and Beetle. Everything will work out as planned, and I’m confident you’ll find yourself a more suitable mate. You’re a great catch, Bradley Dunsmore.”

  She stood on her tippy toes and kissed his cheek.

  “I feel like I should say something,” he whispered, “or feel sad.”

  “It’s okay. We didn’t have that kind of relationship. I hope you do someday. I really do.”

  “Like you have with your wrestler?”

  She smiled. “Go on, go find your clients. It’s going to be quite a show tonight.”

  He took a few steps away, hesitated and turned around. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Remember to check on the Daisy Diaper stock from time to time.”