Quote:"It’s funny," I said. "It’s very funny. And it’s a lot of fun, too, to be in love."

"Do you think so?" her eyes looked flat again.

"I don’t mean fun that way. In a way it’s an enjoyable feeling."

"No," she said. "I think it’s hell on earth."

- The Sun Also Rises

Dallas, Texas, - Tuesday, October 28, 2014 – 10:15 am.

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!

((The tinny, electronic sound of the buzzer going off for the third time that morning was more than Roxy could stand. Finally, she swiped the cell phone away from Loverboy’s hand and shut it off before his half-conscious hand could press the snooze button again. Gently, she rests her hand on his thick shoulder and shakes him.))

Babe… babe, we have to get up… we have to get to the train station.

((Loverboy rolls away, exposing Roxy’s bare midriff to the air conditioning and causing her to shiver and cover herself with the sheets. High thread count sheets. Expensive. Nothing like the ones in Culver City. Don’t think about the hotel, Roxy, think about Chicago.))

Vinnie! Come on, babe, it takes a whole day to get there, we can’t miss the train!

Wha…

Vinnie!

((She shoves him this time, practically rolling him out of the bed altogether. This wakes him fully, and his expression snaps to consciousness and bewilderment. One can only wonder where he thought he was only moments before.))

Whoa… Roxy? What the hell, man? I was sleeping!

I know, Vinnie. We have to get up, you’ve been hitting the snooze all morning and we have to get to the train station by noon.

Did we pack?

I packed. You tuned the guitar.

Yeah. But then I sung you a song!

((Loverboy leans across the bed and plants a wet kiss on Roxy’s cheek, and she smiles in spite of herself. There was still the nagging sensation of danger when his mouth came to close to hers, though. The fear that she couldn’t explain to him when he wanted to fuck the night before. She’d had to lie again, tell him she was on her period. What an ironic joke that was.))

You did, baby, and you sung it sweet. You know I love when you do ‘Patience’ for me.

I know. Said, Sugar, take it slow, it’ll work itself out fine…

((The tears well up behind her eyes and she turns away before he can see. Loverboy rolls out of bed, oblivious, and stretches with his arms out to his sides. She watches him in his Jesus Christ pose, the muscles knotted along the seam of his back and across his long arms. Could he be her messiah? Would he be willing to nail himself to her cross, or would it only be hers to bear?))

Okay, babe, I’m gonna take my ass into the shower. The one on the train isn’t gonna be any good, and from there I’ll probably go straight to the arena, you know? This is the last good shower I’ll get for a few days. You gonna join me?

I don’t know. Maybe. If the water stays hot.

It’s always hot in the shower with you, girl. You said noon, right? And how long is the ride?

About 22 hours.

Holy shit! Tell me why we’re taking the train again?

Because I always wanted to! And you promised!

((Loverboy smiles, and she knows he was only teasing. His warm eyes chase the chill from the room, and he blows her a kiss as he walks into the bathroom, leaving the door open for her. Hoping.))

I know it, babe! I’m looking forward to it.

((Roxy listens as the water starts in the bathroom, and watches as tendrils of steam crawl from within across the floor. “Rolling in on little cat feet,” she thinks, remembering the poem that always made her smile. Fitting for a trip to Chicago. Finally standing from the bed, she holds her hands folded across her bare stomach as she looks down at the city below the window, busy. She sees a ghost of her reflection in the window glass, and is reminded of her lack of makeup. Her undone hair. Moving quick, she grabs her bag and pulls from it all the tools she needs to repaint herself into the sexy, vibrant Roxy Cotton she’s lived as for so long now. The past 48 hours needed to be covered in a coat of fresh color. In one fluid motion, Roxy sits herself in front of the vanity mirror. She sees herself fully now – bare skin. Natural eyebrows. Pale lips. Why would she ever show a man she loves this ugly version of herself? Unscrewing the cap of her mascara, she leans closer to the mirror. In her peripheral vision she notices for the first time the shirt she’s woken up in. One of his. She holds her hand against it, pressing it closer to her breasts and feeling the swell of her stomach as she inhales. The fabric reaches only halfway to her navel. One of Loverboy’s in-ring half shirts. Faster Pussycat. What he always said to her when he wanted her to move quicker, either when walking together or in bed. She smiled again, unguarded, as his voice carried out from the bathroom.))

Said, Sugar, take the time, because the lights are shining bright… you and I’ve got what it takes to make it…

((Roxy’s tears came again, but of joy this time. The color springing into her cheeks was natural. She screwed the cap back onto the mascara pen and set it on the desk, standing and heading into the steam filled bathroom. She closed the door behind her with a quiet click.))

---

---

Hi there Peter.

I had a little time riding on this train to Chicago and thought it would be a good opportunity to talk to you directly.

I know we haven’t had a whole hell of a lot of time to get to know each other, at least not compared to the time you’ve spent wallowing in the low ranks of the XWF. What’s it been, Pete? Five years? Ten? I think we’ve all lost count. What I want to know is what exactly have you accomplished in all that time? Oh, I know, you’re a thousand time X-Treme Champion and all that, but what’s your legacy here, dude? Really think about that one, man, and think about what the first things are that pop into peoples’ minds when someone says the name “Peter Gilmour.”

I’ll start. I’ve been here, what, three months? Let me tell you what my Peter Gilmour experience has been, dude.

First time I heard of you, you were a tag team champion with a dude who can’t even tie his own shoes and ends up wearing velcros to the ring. I saw your match, too. You lost pretty bad, man. You looked like shit in the ring that night. Dim carried you, just like he’d carry you the next time you tagged together against Pest and Mark Flynn. That one was a win! But, you know, now that I think about it, Flynn already had one foot out the door, didn’t he? He probably didn’t give a shit about that match, and we both know beating Pest is nothing to brag about. You’re not even the one who beat him that night, are you man? Nah, you leaned on Dim again.

What else have you done? You beat Pest one on one, which was probably your finest hour since I’ve been here, but you didn’t do shit with that win! You were the biggest hero the XWF could have when you beat that punk, and you fucked it up! If I’d gotten Pest as my bitch for thirty days, that bastard’s breakfast every morning would have been a bowl of my piss. You? What did you do? He washed your car once? Is that all? You had that awesome moment in the sun and then spoiled it by ducking Tommy Gunn day after day, especially when you turned around and fought his eight year old nephew. What the hell was that, dude? And you lost? I’m supposed to take you seriously as a partner and as an opponent, and you lose matches to third graders?

You think anyone in the XWF takes you seriously, Pete? Look at that crown they gave you. It’s worthless. You’re not even in the King of the Ring tournament next week, and YOU’RE supposed to be the king! They’re mocking you, dude! They gave you an empty title to shut you up, just like they gave you that plastic joke of a briefcase. To a man, every single member of the XWF roster thinks you’re a fucking joke.

Do you know why they think you’re such a joke, Pete? You make it easy for them. They watch you get your ass kicked around the ring and call yourself a legend afterward. They watch you with that stupid fucking crown on your head and that stupid fucking lunchbox in your hand, and they laugh, dude. When you open your mouth you tell everyone to suck your dick like you’re some bad ass, or tell everyone you were born with a hard-on. Seriously, Pete? You got hard inside your mom? And that’s the last pussy you got to be inside of that wasn’t grown inside a test tube, wasn’t it? “Maria Brink #2,” another embarrassing joke. What a fucking waste of talent you are, man.

See, that’s the biggest problem, dude. You’ve GOT something. You can GO in that ring when you want to. Hell man, I saw the hurting you lumped onto Guppy Parsh, and I know what it’s like to go up against that tiny little Batman wannabe. But, as always, that match ended up just like the rest of your life. You on your back with a mouthful of shit. You actually choked to death on Shane’s shit, man. That’s a better metaphor for your XWF career than I could possibly make up on my own. This place just shits down your throat and you eat it up, night after night, year after year. Fuck, man, even Barney grew a set of balls and quit eventually. You? You’re still letting them pull your puppet strings like a good boy, aren’t you?

I thought giving you that Trios belt would light a fire under you, man. I thought it might remind you of the Peter Gilmour who won those stables’ titles for the first ever time, and bring back the dude that people actually respected. But no. You’re just sad, man. You don’t deserve that title that I handed to you without earning it. Once again, you’re puffing out your chest and walking into battle hoping for your partner to do the heavy lifting. Morbid Angel’s the threat against me on Wednesday night, man, not you. But you know that, don’t you? That’s why you’ve been so quiet? That’s why you let your teammates keep us from getting into it at War Games? You know you can’t take me one on one, dude. You know I’m out of your league and you’re nowhere near my level. Peter Gilmour in 2013? Maybe. But when’s the last time anyone saw that guy? Now you’re just the XWF’s punchline.

So do me a favor, Pete. Put up a fight, okay? You and Morbs should be able to rip me apart, but I don’t think that’s the way it’s gonna happen, huh man? Peter Gilmour’s gonna choke. Like he did when they finally forced him to defend the tag straps. Like he did against Christian Gunn. Like he did on Shane’s shit. You’re gonna choke and I’m gonna beat you both and show you how a CHAMPION really looks.

Go back to sleep, Gilly – the dream’s almost over.

Quote:"They look like white elephants," she said.

"I've never seen one," the man drank his beer.

"No, you wouldn't have."

- Hills Like White Elephants

Somewhere between Dallas and Chicago – Tuesday, October 28, 2014 – 10:15 pm.

((Roxy Cotton watches out the window of the train car as it rolls north towards Illinois. Next to her, “Loverboy” Vinnie Lane sits with his eyes closed and a pair of earbuds dangling from his blond hair. As the hills roll by, Roxy smiles at herself in the reflection of the window. She smiles at herself and the image of Loverboy behind her, bobbing his head to the music and mouthing the words along with the recording. Roxy turns to him then, and nudges his arm with her elbow. He pops his eyes open and looks at her, smiling immediately. Her mouth finds his then, as she momentarily is a million miles away from Culver City and the nightmare of what happened that night after the Viper Room. She kisses him gently, then pulls away. They look at each other then for long moments, sharing a smile.))

Vinnie? I want to go away sometime.

Yeah? That would be cool. Where do you want to go? Vegas? Paris? I always wanted to go to Italy…

I want to go to Mount Kilimanjaro.

What? Mount Killi-where?

Mount Kilimanjaro! Don’t you remember, from Hemingway?

I don’t remember… where is that?

It’s in Tanzania.

Tanzania? Like the cartoon devils?

No, Vinnie, come on! Tanzania is in Africa.

You’d rather go to Africa than France? Or Italy? You want to go catch ebola climbing a mountain?

Vinnie, don’t be stupid. Besides, it’s a volcano.

You want me to climb a fucking volcano??

((Just then, a server walks down the aisle and Loverboy stops her. He orders a beer for himself and then turns to Roxy.))

You want a beer, babe?

((Roxy folds her hands over her belly and smiles.))

Just a water, baby. I’m feeling dehydrated.

((Loverboy repeats the order to the server and gets the drinks, twisting off the bottle cap for Roxy and handing her the water. He looks deep into her eyes and smiles, taking a sip from his beer.))

So… will you? Will you take me there?

Baby… I’ll go anywhere with you.

((And the train speeds on, closer to Chicago, and closer to Warfare.))