by JJ Knight
And I get it. They’re going to a fight. That guy is a fighter.
I let them get to the door, then casually stand up and pretend to drain the beer. I wave at the bartender, who’s frowning at the mess the guys left.
Then I follow them.
If they get in a car, I’m screwed. But they don’t. They keep walking along the street and eventually turn down another toward a warehouse.
Cars are strewn everywhere, parked along every curb and on a scraggly grass lot.
I’m not sure if there will be any sort of code to get in, like some of the illegal fights in LA. I decide to take my chances on these guys and hustle up to them.
“So who’s up tonight?” I ask.
They look at me for a second, then one says, “Jimmy here is going to take a shot.” He points at the guy with the bag.
Jimmy is a big guy, and his weight alone will give him an advantage in a basement cage match.
“Looks like only a fool would take him on,” I say.
Jimmy claps me on the back. “You look like you could jump in for a round. You going to get in the lineup?”
That’s one hell of an idea. I’m pissed off enough to take a go at someone. But technically, I’m under contract. If my league found out I did an illegal match, I’d be suspended. Plus, there’s Lily. I can’t go to her house with a cut eye, and the damn thing is susceptible.
“Nah,” I say. “It might end my modeling career.”
This makes them whoop with laughter.
It’s a good thing I decided to talk with them, because the guy at the door to the warehouse looks like he could pound me into the asphalt in a single blow. As we approach, he grabs some punk kid by the waistband and hurls him into the back street.
But when we get there, he shakes Jimmy’s hand. “Hope I get a chance to step in and see you go,” he says. “Throw a couple good licks for me.”
“Will do,” Jimmy says.
The guy notices me, but says nothing, and we pass on through.
A short corridor opens into the big warehouse space and a couple hundred guys crowd around an octagonal cage. There’s actually a ref in there, unlike some of the underground fights in LA. It’s more organized than the one I dragged Lani and Annie to that time, when Jo and Brittany took them down after the attack on Colt.
The betting is more orderly too. Instead of a few guys running around holding cash, there’s a table where you put your money on each match.
Several of the guys I’m with head to the table to place bets.
A line of men off to one side are getting weighed. Jimmy goes toward the scales. I decide to blend in with the crowd.
A new pair of fighters come into the cage, flyweights by the looks of them.
“That boy looks like my little sister,” a guy next to me says.
He’s talking about a bushy-haired fighter who is lean as a whip, but I can see the technique in his punches as he warms up. He’s trained. He’s confident. He might be less than 130 pounds, but I bet he could take down half the men in this room inside a single round.
Besides, the minute the match starts, the spectators see the difference in the heavier classes and the fly. These light fighters are agile and fast. The punches are relentless, and they throw each other around, flipping and somersaulting.
“Now that’s something to watch!” a voice in the crowd cries out.
I admire their strategy. They’re pretty good for an underground fight. It must be a function of the system here, where almost all fights are unofficial.
Glancing through the guys lining up for a match, roughly organized by weight, I see these two are the only flyweights. The bulk of them are like me, welterweight, one of the most crowded categories. If I could drop down to feather or bulk up to middleweight, the competition would be less. It’s something Brazen’s talked to me about. If I’m moving to another league, it makes sense to figure out the most advantageous weight class.
I’m not looking for a fast track. But I’ve already put in the years. I’ve paid some dues. I need to be more strategic.
One of the flyweights crashes into the cage wall. He’s got blood dripping from his nose. The ref stops the fight so he can take a look and decide if he should call it. That’s another difference between these fights and the LA. underground. Those are no-holds-barred. Here they are actually fighting by league rules.
I’m anxious to look up who is fighting in this area and where they go to make actual money. I’m guessing that in this basement match it’s a percentage of the bets. But there are regulation fights nearby, in New Jersey and Connecticut. Those will be run by a league, with a preset amount in the purse.
I need to figure out what I’m doing. Maddie already showed me that we can make something happen. Now I’ve got to get here to actually do it.
My phone buzzes. I tug it from my pocket, hoping it’s Maddie, praying she wants to meet me somewhere.
But the text is from Delores.
Leave Maddie alone. You upset her. She doesn’t need any more grief from you.
Bloody hell. What happened after I left?
The crowd erupts as one of the flyweights is thrown across the cage, then fails to stagger back to his feet. The ref calls the match. I back up to the wall and send Maddie a quick note.
Did I upset you?
I wait for a response as the ref declares the other guy a winner. Some older man comes into the cage with a towel to lead off the bleeding one.
I watch the phone anxiously. Nothing.
Some teen kids come out and swipe at the floor of the cage with mops.
I write her again.
Maddie, talk to me.
Two more fighters come out and the ref starts another match.
Still nothing.
I can’t stand it.
I duck out of the room and head to the exit. Maybe I’ll walk to her house, see if I can talk to her. Then I decide, yes, I’ll do it, and take off in a light jog.
Then I think, I’ll make it more convincing. I rush back to the motel to change into workout clothes. Cutoff sweatpants, a hoodie. Like I’m just out for a run.
When I come back out, the night is quiet. Everything’s closed. Street lamps cast a glow at every corner.
A half mile is nothing, just a few minutes. I approach Maddie’s house. The light in the living room is on. Her bedroom window is dark. Who’s up? Maddie or Delores? Should I knock?
I chicken out on the first pass, get to the next corner, then turn around. I’m glad I didn’t drink the beer. My belly is roiling just from the anxiety.
When I approach the house a second time, I feel my phone in the pocket of the hoodie buzz against my belly. I yank it out eagerly, hoping she’s up. That she’s responded.
And she has. But it’s just one word. One to make my heart sink.
Don’t.
Chapter 11
I’m so anxious when I arrive the next day for Lily’s actual birthday, I can barely function.
I’ve dressed better. Khakis and a button-down. I’d have put on a tie if I had one. I know they both think I’m something terrible. I want to show them that I’m not.
Lily opens the door, beaming up at me like a wee goddess in a shiny gold dress. I hold out the box with her present. “For the birthday girl,” I tell her.
“Ooooh,” she breathes.
We go inside. Delores is setting out plates on the dining room table. I can smell the grilled-cheese sandwiches browning. There’s another small cake on the table.
No one greets me.
I sit in one of the chairs and Lily climbs on another. “Can I open it now?” she asks.
“Maybe you should ask your mama,” I say.
She frowns a moment. “She’s busy.”
Probably a good decision. “Then open it now,” I say.
Lily needs no more encouragement. She rips off the paper, revealing a small ballerina jewelry box. When she lifts the lid, it plays “Moon River.”
Delores stops for a moment to fl
ash me a terrible look. She knows.
I start to regret the purchase. But when I found the box and heard it play the song, I wanted it for Lily. She should know, especially when she gets older, that her parents did care about each other at one time. That they had a song that meant a lot to them.
“I love it,” Lily says. The little ballerina turns on her pedestal.
“There’s another little box inside,” I say.
She sees it and lifts it out. Her fingers are clumsy and struggle to open the box. Inside is a bracelet with three charms. She holds it up. “What are they?” she asks.
I lift the first one. “This is a seashell. For the ocean where your mama and I used to go together in California.”
“I’ve never been to the ocean,” Lily says.
“Then I’ll have to take you,” I tell her. “This one is a peace sign. Your mama wore this pretty black shirt with a shiny rainbow peace sign on it the day we met.”
She giggles. “That’s funny.”
“It was a funny shirt.”
I finger the last one. “This is a boxing glove. It’s for what I do. I’m a fighter.”
Lily’s face registers confusion. “You get in fights?”
“It’s a sport,” I say. “Like baseball or soccer. Only we do stuff that’s more like karate, kicking and punching.”
“You hit each other?”
This was a bad idea, I realize. Very bad. I love what I do. Love it. But I can see how hard it is to explain to a child.
Maddie’s voice from the doorway is hard and cold. “Stop it right now,” she says.
She holds a plate of sandwiches. She looks so angry that my heart seizes up. I don’t want to hurt her. But this is who I am.
Lily looks back and forth between the two of us. “Moon River” winds down into silence.
“Daddy brought me this,” she says uncertainly and holds up the bracelet.
Maddie puts on a bright false smile. “It’s very pretty. Now go wash your hands for your favorite lunch!”
Lily jumps off the chair and races toward the back of the house. Maddie drops the plate on the table in an angry huff. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” she asks.
“I just want her to know where she came from.”
“She comes from here. From me. Not you. Not your life. From me.”
“She’s my daughter too.”
Maddie’s face is in a fury. I would swear she’s about to pick up a plate and throw it at me.
Delores grasps Maddie’s shoulders. “It’s Lily’s birthday. Let’s put this away for the moment so she can have a good day.”
For once I agree with Delores.
Maddie sinks into a chair. “I want you gone as soon as lunch is over,” she says to me.
For the first time in a very long time, I’m so pissed off at Maddie that I think I might lose control. I keep my voice flat and even. “I’m here to see Lily. I flew all the way here from LA. to see her on her birthday.”
Maddie stares at me hard, glaring, her eyes sparking with anger. “You can take her to the park, then,” she says. “But I want you out of my house. I’m through with you.”
I want to argue with her, but Lily comes skipping back into the room as if nothing has happened.
I know I’ve lost. I’ll just have to make the best of it.
Chapter 12
The park is a short walk along the row of houses, past an elementary school that I assume Lily will eventually attend. It’s a little chillier than I expected for fall, but we’re in New York, not California.
Lily skips ahead in a puffy pink jacket. The charms jingle on her wrist.
I’m trying to calm myself down. Lunch was awkward. Maddie refused to talk to anyone but Lily. Even that happened with a false lilt in her voice, trying to fake it to avoid upsetting Lily on her birthday.
Delores sat concerned and silent at the other end of the table. In the end, most of the conversation was between me and Lily. Even though she is only four, Lily seemed to know not to bring up the bracelet, the music box, or this new information that I was a fighter.
The park isn’t much, just a jungle gym and a few swings on the corner of the block. A few kids run around shouting. Mothers sit on the peeling benches.
“Come on, Daddy,” Lily says. “Watch me go down the slide!”
She takes off across the play yard. I follow along, not sure how this is done. The other parents are sitting and talking. Only one youngish woman is actually attending a child, who is very young, barely two, trying to climb a rope ladder on one side.
Lily’s face pops through a tunnel at the top of the slide. “Watch me!”
“I’m watching!” I say.
She slides down, her little black-stockinged legs sticking out straight ahead of her. When she makes it to the bottom, she cries, “I’m going to do it again!” and circles back around.
I attract some attention. The mothers look at me, then cut their eyes and lean in close to talk. I’m glad the tattoos are covered. No telling what people would say then. It must be obvious to them that I don’t fit in, although I don’t know how. I’m just watching Lily play.
Lily hurtles down the slide a second time. “Watch me climb to the top!” she says.
I lean against a pole. Despite the discomfort of the other moms talking about me, this beats getting glared at by Maddie. I don’t know what to do about her. She wants me to be somebody else. I don’t know how to do anything but fight.
Besides, tomorrow I’m meeting with some guys at the biggest gym in the area. If she wasn’t already mad, she probably would be then.
But fighting over here means writing off the plane tickets. And coming more often. She’ll just have to accept that this is my life. It’s not like I’ll be taking Lily to matches.
I remember that golden-haired girl on her father’s shoulders at my last fight. I wondered what sort of life she had, who her parents were that it was all right for her to come to something like that. Heck, I didn’t even know the rules. Maybe the dad was someone special enough that they let his little girl in.
Halfway up the steps, Lily spots someone behind me and squeals. She hurries back down. “Amanda!” she cries.
I watch her run up to a little girl I remember from the party yesterday. A few feet behind her are a bearded man and a sullen-looking preteen boy.
“You’re not a clown today,” the little girl says shyly.
“Not today,” I say.
“Let’s go down the slide together!” Lily says, and the two of them take off.
The father pauses next to me. He’s tall and skinny with hipster glasses. “You got park duty too, I see,” he says.
“I did,” I answer. “I’m Parker, Lily’s dad.” I shake his hand.
“Ah, that was the clown part.” He laughs. “We do get suckered into stuff like that sometimes. I’m Barry.” He watches the unhappy boy plunk down on a bench and pull out his phone. “That’s my son, Josh. We got kicked out of the house because my wife has some friends over to sell some sort of junk.”
I don’t have any reply for that. I’ve never had this sort of conversation — wives, kids, parks. It’s like another world.
“So I haven’t heard about you,” Barry says.
“I live in California.”
He nods. “Makes sense, then. What do you do there?”
I hesitate. What the hell do I say? I just go with the truth. “I’m an MMA fighter.”
Barry takes a step back. “Really?” He stares at me a second. “Should I know who you are?”
“I doubt it. I haven’t done anything televised.”
Barry turns to his son. “Hey, Josh. Lily’s dad is an MMA fighter.”
I think the kid is going to be completely unimpressed and go back to his phone, but he jumps up. “Really?” He says it exactly like his dad did.
“Yeah!” Barry turns back to me. “Josh is taking fight club at one of the local gyms.”
I take a closer look at the boy. He’s no
t as wiry as his father. He might have some potential. “I’m headed to Panther’s tomorrow to set up a match for my next visit,” I say.
“That’s where I go,” Josh says. “My coach does fights. His name is Pinball.”
“I’ll probably meet him tomorrow, then,” I say. “So what do you know? Roundhouse?” I do a quick swing. “Push kick?” I turn and demonstrate.
“Yeah,” he says, fired up now. “And jump kicks.” He leaps and delivers one straight to my gut. I’m not expecting it, so I fall back a few steps.
“Josh! Hey!” his dad shouts.
I laugh to show it’s fine. “Good one. You’re not half bad.” Actually he’s terrible, but he’s learning. I’m pleased to see kids taking it up early.
“Can we go to your fight?” Josh asks.
“It’ll be across the state line somewhere,” I say. “You can’t do official fights in New York.” I think of the underground ones. Hopefully I’ll be a step above all that.
Josh looks up at his dad. “Can we go?”
He shrugs. “As long as it’s okay with your mom.”
This gets me. Maddie will not like me involving any of her friends in what I do.
Damn.
Maybe nothing will come of it. We’ll probably never see each other again.
“Daddy, come push us!” Lily calls.
“Daddy, come!” her friend says.
“Duty calls,” Barry says.
Josh goes back to his bench, but he seems more animated now, like coming here wasn’t the worst thing ever after all.
I head over to the swings with a sense of unease, like I just messed up big time.
Chapter 13
Panther’s gym rivals Buster’s with its crappy-looking exterior. The bricks are crumbling on the corners of the building. Weeds spring up through the cracks in the sidewalk.
But the windows have giant glossy letters and a slick logo of a guy kicking a giant Muay Thai bag.
The inside is warm, and I shed my jacket in an instant. A stout, long-haired man with an outrageous handlebar mustache crosses the room and extends a hand. “Power Play. Glad to see you made it over to these parts.”