Jesse ripped the paper off his straw and wadded it up. If he had been with the guys, he might have pulled the paper down from the straw like an accordion. Then he would have sat the paper on the table, poured a couple of drops of Coke on it and watched it expand. Jesse’s father had shown him that trick. He called it the “worm.” But at the moment, it seemed like a dumb, childish thing to do.
TJ took another drink. “Don’t be so quick to give up on football, Jesse. Lots of things can happen between now and next season. I mean, look at you. You’re still growing. How much do you bench press?”
“I don’t know. About one eighty-five, one ninety.”
“Not bad. Does your school have a pretty good workout facility?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Jesse said. “Nothing fancy, but it’s all right.”
TJ downed the last of his beer. He lifted his glass and motioned for the waitress to bring him another one. “The Brookstone Apartments where I live has a great gym with state-of-the-art equipment,” he said. “After we finish eating, I’ll take you there to show it to you.”
Jesse could tell that TJ spent a lot of time working out. TJ stood six-three and weighed two-hundred forty pounds, but he was all muscle. He had a thick chest and huge biceps that stretched out his black golf shirt.
In order to stay in top physical shape, wrestlers spend long hours exercising. When Jesse’s father was on the road, he generally worked out in the hotel gym, if it had one. If not, he would go to a local facility, like Gold’s Gym or Bally’s. When he was home, he worked out at Ox Mulligan’s Pro Wrestling Factory, a wrestling school in San Antonio.
Their pizza was brought out. While they ate, TJ talked about vitamins, body-building supplements and the importance of maintaining a proper diet. He laughed when Jesse asked him if pepperoni pizza and beer were on his list of nutritional foods.
“Most foods are okay as long as you eat them in moderation,” TJ said. “Moderation and a balanced diet, along with a good exercise program are vital to every athlete.”
TJ sounded like a real expert, and Jesse appreciated his advice.
“Listen, are you doing anything Saturday night?” TJ asked.
“I don’t think so. Why?”
“UFC’s coming to town, and I’ve got two tickets for it,” TJ said. “This gal I’ve sort of been seeing doesn’t wanna go. You interested?”
Jesse wasn’t a fan of mixed martial arts. In pro wrestling, wrestlers only pretend to beat each other up, but in MMA, they beat each other up for real. MMA matches were too violent for his taste. Still, he wasn’t about to turn down TJ’s offer. “Yeah, sure,” Jesse said. “Sounds like fun.”
TJ finished his beer. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I wanna show you my place before I take you home.”
CHAPTER TEN
It was eleven-thirty by the time they left Romo’s. Jesse called home to let his grandmother know where he was. She wasn’t happy about Jesse staying out so late, especially since it was a school night. She told him to tell TJ to take him home as soon as possible.
Again, TJ let him drive his car.
The Brookstone Apartments was a gated complex, so TJ had to give Jesse the code for the electronic gates. After Jesse punched in the numbers, the metal doors swung open, and TJ guided him to the gym.
Treadmills, exercise bikes, dumbbells, benches, weight machines and elliptical cross trainers filled the gym. The room had floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Compared to TJ’s gym, the Sidewinders’ workout room looked like a dump.
Jesse walked around the room, wide-eyed, touching all the equipment, like a little kid in a toy store. “This is so cool, TJ,” he said.
“Thanks. It’s one of the perks of living here.” TJ stood next to a weight machine. “Come here. Let’s see what you can lift.”
Jesse’s workout room had weight machines but nothing like the ones in TJ’s gym. He sat on the bench and tucked his knees under the padded bar. Gripping the overhead bar, he pulled it down. The weight was heavier than he had expected, and he struggled to bring the bar to his chest.
“Woo!” TJ said. “We’re gonna have to work on building your muscles.”
Jesse released the bar. “How much weight was that?”
“I’m not gonna embarrass you by telling you how much you pulled,” TJ said. “Let’s just say that you could use some weight training.”
Jesse rose from the bench without checking to see how many pounds were on the machine. TJ saying that he didn’t want to embarrass him, embarrassed him.
Afterwards, TJ took him to his apartment. To Jesse’s surprise, the apartment was clean and neat. In the living room was a black leather couch with a matching ottoman. A large, flat-screen TV hung on the wall across the room. A long bookcase sat below the TV. TJ had a few Stephen King novels, as well as books on martial arts. He also had stacks of comic books and graphic novels.
A countertop with two barstools separated the kitchen from the dining room. In place of a table, the dining room had a set of drums. Behind the drums, the wall was covered with wrestling masks.
TJ opened the refrigerator door and took out two beer bottles. “Ready for one now?”
“No, thanks,” Jesse said. He’d had a great evening, but something didn’t feel right about drinking a beer with TJ.
TJ shrugged and put one of the bottles back.
“I didn’t know you play the drums,” Jesse said.
“Yeah, but not like I used to.” TJ sat on a barstool and sipped his beer. “When I was in high school, I was a band nerd. I played the drums for the Mackenzie Mustangs Marching Band in Amarillo.”
“I used to play the drums, too,” Jesse said. “We lived in St. Louis for a while, and I joined my school’s band. I wanted to learn how to play the trumpet, but my band director stuck me in the percussion section.”
“Drumsticks are right there,” TJ said, pointing with his bottle. “Let’s see what you can do.”
Jesse picked up the sticks and sat on a stool behind the drums. He banged on them, and then stopped when he realized how late it was. He didn’t want to disturb the neighbors.
“Back in high school, a couple of my buddies and I formed a rock band,” TJ said. “We called ourselves Midnight Dreams. We even got a few gigs at school functions and stuff. We were gonna be famous rock stars and tour the world. Then reality set in. We graduated and went our separate ways.”
“My father used to have a band, too,” Jesse said. “But I don’t know if they called themselves anything.”
“Hey, since you play the guitar, maybe you can bring it over sometime and we can jam together.”
Jesse told TJ he’d take him up on his offer. They pulled out their cell phones and exchanged numbers.
“Where did you get all the masks?” Jesse asked, staring at the dining room wall.
“I bought most of them at a little shop near the Alamo. But some of the better quality masks I got from the wrestlers who wore them.” TJ pointed to a red and white mask. “Solomon Grimm gave me that one. It’s one of the masks he wore when he wrestled as Kronos. Carlos Montoya gave me one of his Azteca Dorado masks. I guess he won’t need his masks anymore once he becomes Brother Jeremiah. Of course, you recognize that one.” TJ pointed to Jesse’s father’s old Annihilator mask. “Now over here are masks of famous Mexican luchadores who were around long before your time. That one is . . . ”
“I know who they are,” Jesse said. “That one is Blue Demon. This other one is Mil Máscaras. And of course, everyone knows El Santo.”
TJ smiled. “I’m impressed.”
“My father told me about them,” Jesse said. “He’s a huge fan of lucha libre. When we were in Mexico City on vacation, he introduced me to the Mexican wrestling promotion, Consejo Mundial de Lucha Libre, and we went to the Arena México to watch the matches.” Jesse marveled at all the masks. “You’ve got an awesome collection, TJ.”
“Thanks. Glad you like them. Tell you what. Pick any mask you want and it’s yours.”
Jesse had dozens of wrestling action figures but no masks, except for his father’s Annihilator ones. He scrutinized each one. He liked Don Jardine’s mask that he wore when he wrestled as the Spoiler. The Rey Misterio mask was pretty awesome-looking, too. But there was one that especially caught his eye. “Can I have the Mil Máscaras mask?”
“Sure.” TJ pulled out the push pin that held the mask and took it down.
Mil Máscaras, the man of a thousand masks, supposedly wore a different mask each time he wrestled. The one TJ gave Jesse was a metallic-silver color with black, jagged trim around the eyes, nose and mouth, and black triangular lines on the top. The mask had a red M in the middle, above the eye slits.
TJ directed Jesse’s attention to the photographs on the wall behind the couch. “I snapped those when I took a photography class in high school. I wanted to be a photographer when I grew up, but instead I decided to become a wrestler, something my pops has never let me forget.” TJ stuck his nose up in the air. “My pops is too hoity-toity to watch wrestling. Know what I mean?” He sat on the couch and took another swig of his beer.
Jesse sat on the ottoman in front of him. “How did you get into wrestling, anyway? Did you play sports in high school?”
“No, Jesse. Like I said, I was a band nerd. But I was also a huge ACW mark. I watched it all the time. Who knew that I’d be wrestling for them one day?” TJ sat his beer bottle on an end table and leaned back on the couch with his hands clasped behind his head. “Some of my buddies and I were into backyard wrestling. One of the guys, Pete Zagarenski, used to have a professional wrestling ring that his pops found on ebay. We formed a federation called Ultimate Backyard Wrestling. We tried to imitate the kinds of things we saw wrestlers do on TV. I mean, we hit each other with chairs and threw each other through tables. We’d climb up Pete’s roof and jump off onto each other.” TJ shook his head and laughed. “Man, we did some crazy stuff back then.”
Jesse had heard about backyard wrestling from his father. It was something kids all across the country were doing. His father didn’t think much of it. He said that kids who participated in backyard wrestling were stupid because they were attempting dangerous stunts without any training or supervision. Even professional wrestlers, he said, with extensive preparation and conditioning, always risked getting seriously hurt.
“Anyway, after graduation my pops wanted me to go to college,” TJ said. “He’s a hot shot attorney in Amarillo, and he wanted me to study law. But I barely made it through high school, and there was no way I was gonna survive through law school. So I decided to go into pro wrestling. I Googled wrestling schools and found the Ox Mulligan Pro Wrestling Factory here in San Antonio. Now I’m a superstar on American Championship Wrestling.” TJ picked up his bottle and finished his beer. “And there’s nothing my pops can do about it,” he added with disdain.
“I take it that you and your father don’t get along,” Jesse said.
“Oh, we get along fine. As long as he stays in his part of the state and I stay in mine.”
Jesse checked the time. It was ten after twelve. “I have to go.”
“Yeah, okay.” TJ pulled his keys out of his pocket and tossed them to Jesse. “I’ll let you do the honors.”
Jesse was glad he hadn’t asked the guys to join them. It wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun. The guys were all right. There was nothing wrong with them. Goose was kind of goofy, though. And Bucky’s high-pitched voice sometimes grated on Jesse’s nerves. He realized that Wendell was trying to lose weight, but his body was full of flab that jiggled when he walked. Jesse didn’t want TJ to think that he hung out with a bunch of losers.
On the way home, they neared Jesse’s school.
“There’s good old Erastus ‘Deaf’ Smith High,” TJ said. “No offense, Jesse, but that’s gotta be the weirdest name for a high school I’ve ever heard.”
“Actually, we pronounce it Deef Smith,” Jesse corrected him.
“All right. Deef Smith High. Who was he, anyway?”
Jesse pulled the car to the curb and stopped in front of the school. “I’m not sure. Some famous guy from the Texas Revolution, I think. Didn’t you study about him in school?”
“If we did, I don’t remember,” TJ said.
“Anyway, that’s him up there.” Jesse pointed to the life-size statue of Deaf Smith, a figure in a long coat with a rifle at his side. The statue stood on a pedestal at the top of the steps.
“Serious-looking man, isn’t he?” TJ said.
“I guess. I walk by the statue so often, I hardly notice it anymore.”
An impish grin spread across TJ’s face. “Hey, Jesse. You ever pull any ribs?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, pranks, practical jokes. The ACW boys love to pull ribs on each other. Like the time Karl Nelson was about to go out for his match, and Red Lassiter hid his Black Mamba mask. Karl went ballistic. He tore up the dressing room trying to find it. Finally Frank Collins threatened to fine whoever it was that took Karl’s mask if they didn’t give it back.”
Jesse had heard that story from his father—and many others. Wrestlers spend a lot of time on the road together, and sometimes, just for the fun of it, or out of boredom, they’ll rib each other.
TJ picked up the Mil Máscaras mask and said, “I dare you to climb up the statue and put the mask on Deaf Smith.”
“No way, man,” Jesse said, but the idea made him laugh.
“Come on, Jesse. I’ll get you another one. It’s dark out here. Nobody’ll see you do it. If a car passes by, I’ll honk.”
Jesse looked around. The streets were empty. Most of the neighbors were probably asleep. He giggled nervously.
“Do it, Jesse,” TJ coaxed. “Let’s give old Deaf Smith something to smile about.”
Why not? Jesse thought. TJ wasn’t telling him to tag the statue or destroy it. Plus, it would be hilarious for the kids who saw it the next morning. He took the mask and opened the car door.
TJ shooed him away with the back of his hand. “Go on.”
Feeling a rush of excitement, Jesse climbed the steps and shinnied up the statue. He tried to slip the mask around the head, but the mask was too small. He undid the laces and tried it again. The mask wasn’t secure, but it would do.
When Jesse turned around, he saw TJ standing at the bottom of the steps, holding up his camera phone.
“Wait, Jesse. Don’t move.” TJ pressed the button. “I want us to have something to commemorate the evening.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The next morning, Jesse arrived at school forty-five minutes earlier than usual. He wanted to see the kids’ reactions when they saw Deaf Smith wearing a Mil Máscaras mask. Ordinarily, he caught the bus, but he talked his grandmother into driving him. He made up a story about how he needed to get to school early to speak with a counselor about his classes for the next semester. His grandmother dropped him off in front of the building without noticing that Deaf Smith now looked like a Mexican wrestler.
Soon the buses began to arrive. As the kids got out, their eyes and mouths widened. They giggled and pointed at the statue. Some of the kids pulled out their camera phones and took pictures. By the end of the day, the photos would be all over the Internet.
Later, Jesse would tell the guys that he was the one who had put the mask on the statue, but he had to be careful not to let too many people know.
Jesse’s excitement over his rib didn’t last long. Dr. Ríos, the principal, walked out the front doors with Lester Marrs, the head custodian. Lester was carrying a ladder. He leaned his ladder against the statue and climbed up. The kids booed when he yanked off the mask.
José Bernal shouted, “Put the mask on, Lester!” Other voices joined him. “Put the mask on! Put it on!”
Lester grinned. He waved the mask in the air like a flag. He was about to slip it over his head, but Dr. Ríos glared at him. Instead, Lester climbed down the ladder and handed the mask to the principal.
During first period,
while Jesse was in the middle of English class, trying to stay awake through a reading of The Grapes of Wrath, Lashundra Jones walked in the room and handed the teacher a note. Mrs. Dowell looked up from the rim of her reading glasses and said, “Jesse, Dr. Ríos needs to see you right away.”
Jesse didn’t bother to ask why. He was pretty sure he knew what the principal wanted. He took the note from Lashundra and headed to the office.
Mrs. Castillo, the office manager, told him to have a seat while she notified Dr. Ríos. A few moments later, she returned and told Jesse that the principal was ready to see him.
When Jesse entered the principal’s office, Dr. Ríos was clicking away at the keys on his computer. The Mil Máscaras mask sat on his desk. Dr. Ríos paused to read what he had just typed. His face grew pensive, and he made a grunting sound. He scratched his bristly mustache and typed some more. Then he smiled satisfactorily and saved his work. He looked up and said, “Good morning, Jesse. Please sit down.”
Dr. Ríos clasped his chubby fingers together and placed his hands on top of his desk. “Are you keeping up with your studies? Making good grades?”
“They’re all right,” Jesse said, but that wasn’t what Dr. Ríos wanted to know. If he was interested in Jesse’s grades, all he had to do was look them up on his computer.
“I watched you play last night,” Dr. Ríos said. “You made a couple of pretty good blocks.”
“Thank you, sir. I just wish Coach Blaylock would give me a little more playing time.”
Dr. Ríos nodded, and his eyes took on a sympathetic look. “Your grandfather has called the school several times to share your concern, and I’ve spoken to Coach Blaylock about it. That’s probably why you got to play last night. Maybe next week Coach Blaylock will give you even more time on the field.”
That was good to hear, but Jesse couldn’t help wonder if his father had ever called Coach Blaylock, or if that was another one of those promises he had failed to keep.
“What do you generally do after your games, Jesse?” Dr. Ríos asked in a more serious tone.
Body Slammed! Page 6