Wrestling the Russian

by Desean Rambo

  “I’m so sorry about this,” I said to the boy’s parents. They grunted out a low thank you in response. This was not going so well. Everyone was hurting. Maybe we had shown up too soon.

  The boy called out to Yegor again who still hadn’t spoken a word.

  “Yegor! You saved an American! How does that feel?”

  Yegor wasn’t in character. A growing look of concern painted his face as he scanned back and forth between the boy and his visibly hurt parents. Yegor slowly approached the bed.

  “I never got your name,” Yegor said.

  “Brad, my name is Brad,” the boy answered. “I’m the one who was calling you William Paddington.” he said with a mischievous grin.

  His parents were beyond confused at the interaction. Mark and I looked on with smiles. Yegor grabbed young Brad by the shoulder.

  “Brad, you’re a funny guy. You’re also well read. That’s impressive you knew that,” he said. I’d never seen Yegor like this. He was relating to the boy one-on-one as a person. He was no longer the cold, icy, competitor that he fronted as.

  “You want to hear something about that?” he asked the boy.

  “Yes!” Brad said with a twinge of glee.

  “I’ve been trying to avoid the William Paddington thing for almost two years. Not many fans even know that was me. It wasn’t until you started that chant that I actually I had to deal with it front and center in the ring. I don’t think I would have ever addressed it if it wasn’t for you. You can ask them,” he said as he pointed to Mark and I.

  “I would apologize but that isn’t enough words. All I can do is tell you I did what I felt was right. It was a bunch of kids; he could have hurt them all. I just… I just….” Yegor said as he turned to the boy’s parents.

  The boy’s father cut him off.

  “We heard the story. Thank you so much. Had Brad kept running like you told him he would have never got shot. As a military man, I appreciate what you did. I would do the same for your family. That’s what this country is all about.”

  Yegor offered a handshake but Brad’s father declined.

  “For what you did, you get a hug young man.”

  The parents embraced Yegor as if he was their own son. Brad’s mother was losing it. The tears flew as she grasped Yegor and thanked him again and again. I felt myself beginning to cry.

  “U-S-A!” Brad teased Yegor. The big bad Russian spy was caught hugging a military veteran. Yegor laughed once he realized the irony of the situation. Mark and I laughed as well.

  “Come here you!” Yegor teased back as he rubbed the boy’s mop of hair. It was heartwarming to see Mr. Frosty interact with the family so well. A few minutes later we took photos with everyone and let them have their privacy.

  “I’m proud of you guys,” Mark said, he continued as he drove us back, “The way you handled that family, that was big Yegor. That’s the kind of stuff that people need to see from you. If they got to know you I’m sure WWW would call you back up.”

  “They know me. They know what I can do. They know who I am,” Yegor said bluntly. He was back to his usual self.

  “But what you did in there, that wasn’t you. That’s not the guy people know,” Mark corrected.

  “Mark, there are two sides to every story,” Yegor retorted as he stared out the rear passenger window of Mark’s sedan. Mark gave up. He wasn’t going to try to convince the inconvincible.

  Moments later we pulled back in front of the old warehouse gym. It was beginning to feel like a second home. We piled out of the car and got ready to finish up the day’s work. Something was off.

  Mark was on his phone listening to something that seemed important. Whatever it was had full control of Mark’s attention. It looked as if he was getting a load of bad news.

  “What’s up?” I said before I entered the building. Mark was twiddling with his touch screen with a crazed look in his eye.

  “I just turned my phone back on, I got a voicemail. That was one of the trainers from WWW. They saw the tape,” he said.

  “And?” I asked. I was ready for the news. I didn’t need Mark to sugarcoat it. Yegor looked on silently. The bearded one listened in like a German Sheppard.

  “…I need both of you to pack your things for Orlando.”

  “You made it.”

  CHAPTER 9

  “Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!” I ran in Tony’s apartment screaming at the top of my lungs.

  He was on the couch working on his liquor route on the laptop. He had no idea what was going on. I startled him as I jumped for joy. I was like a seven year old who just got a new bike for Christmas.

  “What’s up with you cuz?!” he asked. I didn’t stop to answer as I screamed until my lungs gave in.

  Finally I caught my breath and shared the news.

  “I’m going to Orlando! I made it!” I exclaimed. Tony hopped up off the couch.

  “Oh my goodness! That’s big!” he shouted as he gave me a big hug. We jumped around like little kids.

  “When do you leave?” he asked.

  “As soon as possible. I don’t know if we’re getting a bus, or a rental, or flying. I was just told to get ready right now!” I said.

  KNOCK! KNOCK!

  Someone was at the door. Perhaps it was a disturbed neighbor. I swung open the door and immediately recognized who it was. It was the woman I’d only seen in photos until this point. It was Jamie, Little T’s mother.

  The tattooed-up blonde was not pleased. Jamie was cute in a certain kind of way, real petite with doll-like facial features and a penchant for mismatch makeup. I didn’t know her story but it was clear she had a rough life.

  “Who are you?” she said with a scowl that meant I’m ready to fight sprawled on her face.

  “I’m T’s cousin, Brianna.” I replied. Tony quickly pushed his way past me into the door frame.

  “Brianna you need to be packing. Let me holler at her real quick.”

  I obliged as I made my way to the boy’s room to pack my things. In the background I could hear Jamie and Tony arguing loudly about money.

  “Tell your parents stop coming over here looking for money too! They don’t even see my son!” he boasted.

  Jamie screamed something back about taxes, child support, and gas money. Tony walked back into the apartment, got his wallet, and then sent his angry baby momma on her way. He massaged his dreaded scalp and exhaled as he joined me in the boy’s room.

  “Are you ok? That sounded intense,” I asked.

  “Brianna whatever you do, don’t have no kids until you are sure. Until you are 110% ready. This life ain’t no joke,” he confessed.

  I laughed as I folded random items of clothes. I balanced them next to my half full gym bag and the shoe box which contained my wrestling boots.

  “And don’t get in no relationships either,” Tony exhaled.

  Yegor came by to pick me up about 10 minutes later. It was the first time he’d been over and I was super excited to see him. With almost no greeting, he came in the apartment to help me grab my things. Apparently we were driving down to Orlando since he arrived in a rental car.

  The drive down to Orlando would be 11 hours. This would also be my last time seeing my cousin Tony for a while. I gave him a hug before I left as I thanked him for all his help.

  “Ay Brianna!” Tony said as I trotted down the stairs to the rental. “Remember what I told you earlier.”

  I laughed as I continued walking. He could sense the tension between Yegor and I. It was nerve wrecking but Tony’s teasing assured me I’d be alright. I climbed in the discreet little gray sedan and we took off for our destination.

  It was still early in the day so we were going to try to make the entire trip in one drive. To my surprise Yegor was a calm and quiet driver. He didn’t listen to the radio nor did he speak. He simply focused on what he was doing. I wasn’t even sure if he even had a driver’s license since I’d never seen him behind the wheel before.

  “So we’
ll get there around midnight?” I said to break the silence. He ignored me.

  “Yegor!” I repeated.

  “Brianna?” he replied. I repeated the question again.

  “Yes. We’ll get there in eleven hours,” he assured.

  I wanted to use the downtime to ask him so many questions. I still knew so little about him, but I knew he wouldn’t be up for talking about his past. It was a topic he avoided since knew so little about his past himself. Instead I decided to talk about life in general. I was not up for 11 hours of pure silence.

  “So, are you excited?” I asked. Again he ignored the question.

  “Yegor! Why are you fronting on me? There is no one here but me and you!” I shouted. He was not fazed.

  “Brianna, you ask a lot of questions. I don’t have the answers,” he replied with a matter-of-fact tone.

  “I’m just trying to talk to you,” I said.

  “Fine, then talk,” he said sternly. It was back to the Cold War with the Russian.

  “Tell me about your past relationships. Tell me about your girlfriends. Tell me how you grew up,” I said.

  He rolled his eyes. The highway was commanding his attention. After a brief moment, he began talking again.

  “No girlfriends. No girls. And I’m from Oakland, you know that,” he spoke as if he was checking off boxes. I had to pry to get him to go deeper on any personal subject.

  “Yes, but I don’t know anything about you. I want to know something personal about you. You told me yourself, seek the answers. I’m looking for the answers about you,” I said.

  “Just ask me the question and I’ll answer it,” he retorted.

  “Why don’t you have any ex-girlfriends? Why are you so mad when I ask you about your past?” I asked.

  He grazed his beard and nodded. “I wasn’t allowed to have girls in the house,” he said, then paused, “Growing up an immigrant is tough. Oakland is a rough place. I grew up in a really strict home. Girls were not allowed. Games were not allowed. I had to study and do my school.”

  Things were beginning to make a little more sense. I thought about asking a follow up question on his childhood, but it seemed like too touchy a subject for an 11 hour ride.

  “What’s that Russian song you sang to the kids? I didn’t know you spoke the language,” I remarked.

  “I speak it when I have to. I deal with people from home all the time. It’s just easier to say some things in Russian,” he replied.

  We pulled off the exit somewhere in Alabama. I hadn’t noticed but we were making considerable time. Yegor pulled the rental to a truck stop. It was one of those big truck stops with a gas station, restaurant, and convenience store all in one. He pulled the car into a parking spot and we headed inside the store.

  “Do you need anything?” he asked. I declined.

  I followed as he walked around the store and grabbed a handful of snacks which included beef jerky and Gatorade. We got up to the counter and he also ordered a pack of cigarettes. I found that odd but didn’t say anything until we got back outside. He leaned on the car and puffed one of the menthols as he stared off into the distance.

  “I never knew you smoked,” I said to break the silence. It was still mid-day. The sun wasn’t completely down yet but it was getting darker with each passing moment.

  “I don’t. I have something on my mind,” he replied.

  “And should I waste my time asking what?” I said.

  “I’m worried about you. You don’t know what you’re getting into,” he said, then continued, “What you’re about to get into is different. It’s not about wrestling. It’s about politics. Remember I said that.”

  “What do you mean it’s not about wrestling?” I asked.

  “I’ve seen a lot. I’ve seen a lot of people go down there and lose their hopes and dreams. It’s not what you think. It isn’t about anything other than who you know and who likes you. Keep that in mind,” he replied.

  “Is that what happened to you?” I asked as the sunlight evaporated amongst us.

  “There are two sides to every story Brianna. I didn’t play the politics. It got me in trouble,” he said as he took a drag from the cigarette. I listened closely; it was always a gem when Yegor told a detailed story of his past.

  “Have you ever had your boyfriend cheat on you? Because that’s how it feels. They’re going to get you down there, they’re going to teach you all this crap about how it really works and then it’s going to flip. You’re going to make the wrong person mad and it all goes down from there.

  “When I was down there it was all good doing the British thing. Then I got hurt.” he spoke with commanding conviction.

  He paused to enjoy his cigarette. The smoke was barely visible as the sun set. I leaned on the car against him as we watched the end of the sunset.

  “I tried to work through the injury but it was too painful. Every morning was a struggle. I simply couldn’t do what they asked. But I knew I couldn’t get surgery. If I sat out for six months they’d write me out the script. So I took my chances. They knew I was injured and they held it against me. They turned me into a loser. Match after match I lost. Then they tried to say it was my fault, like I didn’t want to be there when I was doing everything humanly possible to get out there. There are whole matches I watch now that I don’t even remember because of all the drugs I was on,” he went on.

  I nodded as he bore his story. “Brianna, I’m worried about you. You’re too good. It’s different down there. They don’t play fair,” he warned.

  “Why didn’t you tell me all this earlier? I knew a little but only what Chad told me,” I said.

  “Chad doesn’t know anything. He’s a pretty boy. They’re going to drop him too. No one needs to know because none of them care. You care.”

  I smiled on the inside. I felt we were growing really close in a short amount of time. I didn’t know if it was because of the business or if it was two people genuinely caring about each other.

  “When we get down there remember just everything I told you,” he repeated.

  “You said it was like a cheating boyfriend. I’ve… never had a boyfriend before. Not a real one,” I said softly. Yegor finished the cigarette and crushed it under his boot. He stopped to listen to my story. It was a moment I didn’t mind extending.

  “It just never happened. I don’t know why. I don’t think I’m ugly. Guys loved my sister. It’s just that no one was really interested in me for whatever reason. Not in high school or college.”

  Yegor draped his arm around me. It didn’t matter if he was resting his arm or holding me. It felt right. “You’re a beautiful woman. Now get in the car,” he said. The moment was over. He was back to acting like he didn’t care.

  Five or six hours later we finally got down to Orlando. That night we checked into some hotel in Winter Park. It was my second time in the city. The first time was a Disney World trip so I really had no idea where we were. Yegor knew his way around town pretty well.

  The older black lady at the front desk perked up when we walked in the dim lobby. It must have been a slow night. She looked at us as if we were the first people she’d seen in years.

  “Oh joy! Welcome to Orlando. Will you be needing a twin or a queen?”

  I looked at Yegor. He dismissed my glance.

  “Queen,” he said. And like that, it was guaranteed we would be sleeping in the same bed.

  There wasn’t any marathon love making session that night. It was quite the contrary. Yegor did what he was best at: read a book in bed under the dingy hotel lighting. I didn’t care. It was enough to be with him and to share that intimate moment in time.

  Instead of turning on the television I laid my head on his shirtless chest and dozed off as he read on a pointed out anecdotes of Russian politics. Before that night I’d never heard the name Putin so often.

  I couldn’t deny it. I was falling for him, and falling fast. I never in a million years thought I’d feel so strongly a
bout a guy, especially not an anti-social loner. But there he was whispering to me about the USSR, and I didn’t want to be anywhere else in the world. He held me and read as I dozed off into dreamland...

  CHAPTER 10

  The WWW training center was huge. Huge wasn’t even a good description. Gigantic. The training center was housed in a movie studio. The building was so big it felt like walking into an airplane hangar compared to our tiny warehouse in Memphis. The studio held eight wrestling rings back-to-back, each with eager hopefuls from all over the country practicing their skills. I couldn’t lie it was a bit intimidating.

  “Don’t be afraid. Remember what I told you. The ring doesn’t matter; just do what you’ve been taught,” Yegor whispered down to me as we walked in. I shook my head in acknowledgement as we waited for a trainer to greet us.

  “I guess these are our new students!” a slick, confident voice said from behind. I could feel myself already sweating in my spandex gear. Today was going to be a long day.

  A short dark skin black man greeted us. I instantly recognized him from television. He was known in the ring as the Most Valuable Person, or P (as in MVP) for short. He was about 30 years old, 5’9 with a wild natural afro. You wouldn’t know it by looking at him but he was one of the greatest of all time and was one of the only wrestlers to win every championship belt at least once. When he saw Yegor’s face he broke into a big mischievous smile.

  “Look what the wind blew in! I don’t believe it. Is that really you Yiggy?” the vet said. Yegor rolled his eyes at the mention of his apparent nickname.

  “He calls me that because he can’t pronounce my name.” Yegor said out loud.

  “I’m sorry. I almost forgot to introduce myself, I’m P.” he said as we shook hands.

  “Give me a minute; I have to get your paperwork from my assistant. I’ll be right back.”

  P left through one of the rear studio doors.

  “P runs everything down here. He virtually writes the entire show,” Yegor said.

  “Is he a friend of yours?” I asked.

  “He created the William Paddington character,” Yegor said bluntly. The answer sounded like a vague yes.

  P returned with two contracts pinned to clipboards. “Yiggy you’ve been through this, but this is your contract. It includes a waiver and your payment agreement. It’s $1000 per week when you’re down here until you’re on television, then you’ll be offered a deal for your TV rights and all that,” he said.