22. Ronan

Iget the call. Lena and Fritz want to meet me at the Raucous HQ. They say it's something about a clerical error, but I'm not buying that.

"This way, Mr. Bronson. Lean and Fritz are in the garden."

The secretary shows me to the rooftop yard. I've only been up there one time before. It's set up like a miniature meadow, for having Naga naps and munching on dandelions and grasses. It's pastoral, but the place gives me the creeps. No self-respecting orc should be twelve stories up while lazing on grass. It's embarrassing.

I suck it up and paste on a smile. Whatever is coming, let me take it like a male orc should. Chest out and oozing confidence.

"Welcome, welcome, Ronan! Please, have a seat. Our chef, Marc, has laid out a nice snail and red meat hoof platter for you. Wine?"

I nod. Wine at noon? Sure, why the hell not? Now, I'm really getting nervous. This is like a murderer's last meal before execution.

I take a seat on the grass. There's a north to south wind which whips my hair.

"So, thanks for the invite. You said something on the phone about an error?"

I take a snail in my right hand and a glass of blood red claret in my left. I suck down the one in my right and gulp the one in my left. Wiggly, the former, refreshing, the latter.

Fritz wiggles up and clasps his hands as in subservience.

"Yes, yes. What a kerfuffle, I must say. You see, we had it so you would be informed well ahead of the promotional spread. But something went awry. It always does in the wrestling world, doesn't it?"

Fritz's cheeks redden. I've never seen the CEO blush before. This has got to be something more serious than a mere error.

My mind whirls. I finally clue into what they're going on about. It's the upcoming fight against the weaselly amateur kid wrestler. It's going to take more than one glass of wine to make my response sound polite. I hold out my empty goblet. Lena gets the hint, and she pours right to the lip.

"It was our personal assistant, Norm Petrie. He's new to the job. We had to let Sissy go. She was caught stealing from the supply closet. Twenty-three staplers and forty-seven erasers. The latter she ate! We gather she's a kleptomaniac or some such thing. Sad, really. Anyway, in the employee shift, your call didn't land on Norm's to-do clipboard. The poor guy feels awful about it, I can assure you."

Lena's eyes are steady, but the constant tugging on her napkin tells me this is a forced lie.

I smile and take a healthy swig from my goblet. This is such bullshit! They wanted me to find out from the media so I couldn't go postal on their pathetic show. Then, they wait until they figure my rage has died down and force me here to jump through their money-making hoops like a pathetic lap dog.

I used to think I was a part of their team. Now I know I'm solely a paycheck. Their agenda is simply to use me for all I'm worth. My lips stay upturned, but I'm steaming on the inside.

"Yes, well, all that silliness has been sorted out. We have a complete itinerary for you like a manager would address. Norm printed out your copy. Training, media events, photo shoots, the works. We even have hair and make up people and a P.A. to take care of your every whim. All you have to do is show up."

"No stone unturned, I see."

"None, Ronan. We'd love to hear your thoughts, of course." Fritz smiles.

"Well, I was thinking –"

"Great, great! New ideas. That's the life blood of a franchise. Unfortunately, Lena and I have another meeting to attend. Anything you need or want, Norm is a phone call away. Now, come, Lena, or we'll be late."

With that, the two Nagas jump up and scurry off to the elevator, leaving me holding the bag. I pick away at what's left of my snail and meat platter. I grab the snails first, as they are doing their best to inch away. I gulp them down but feel no satisfaction. I'm literally a ticket attraction to introduce the new It Guy in their wrestling line-up. Talk about being used.

I reach over and grab the second bottle of wine. Lena had hidden it in a basket.

"Geez, the cheapskates. Make me feel like trash and let me swallow one bottle only." I grab the wine opener and with one full turn of the corkscrew, the sucker is open, and I drink from the damn bottle.

I'm disgusted with them. I'm disgusted with myself for allowing them to use me. In between wine gulps, I talk to myself. Might as well, since no one else is up in this pastoral high-rise.

"Cripes. And they scram without even bringing up my new contract. After this gig, it expires. I didn't even get the satisfaction of bringing it up myself and storming out. Instead, they storm out of their own building, leaving me sitting up here like some schmuck. Looks like going over Marty's head is a wash."

I flip the platter and throw the empty bottles. I pluck out all the grass tufts and tear down the vines. If I can't express my outrage at those hypocrites, they can darn well see it in how I left the place. "Man, I thought we were family. I'm a world-class idiot."

I storm off the terrace and hightail it out of the Raucous HQ. Employees catch my raging look and make way. No one wants to be in the crossfire of an angry orc. I nearly take the glass doors off the hinges on the way out.

Back in my car, I grab my phone and leave Marty a voicemail.

"Listen, you no good weed. I can't wait ‘til my contract is done, and we're done. You've been a trash manager. It"s always been about what you and others can get from me. No career is worth this bullshit. Marty Murphy, you can go to hell!"

I burn tires out of the Raucous parking lot and head straight for the small-time gym I've been using with Cheyanne. I burst through the doors. Everyone inside the seedy joint jerks their heads, including Chey. She runs over, and I make a concentrated effort to dial it down around her. She's not my enemy in all this.

"Ro, what's the matter?"

"Nothing you need to concern yourself about. Just more bullshit from the corporate HQ. I plan on venting my stress right now with a good session." I take off my jacket, grab the tape, and wrap my hands.

"Right. Well, I don't want to irritate you further, but there's something you need to know."

I look up and see Chey's worry lines crease her forehead. Holy hell, will the crap news ever stop flowing? Almost immediately, my own problems take a backseat and I'm more concerned with whatever is making her face look like that. "Okay, talk. I'm all ears."

Chey takes a seat on the corner bench and regales me with her run-in with Dee Dee and the swampster's sleazy news. I stand erect and inhale, trying my best not to punch the corner post until my knuckles bleed. I know I can't explode in front of Chey. Getting her upset won't help anyone.

"Okay, so Dee Dee has been nosing around. That's not news. When does that chick not stalk and eavesdrop everyone all the time? Who needs cell phones in this industry when Dee Dee is on the damn trail? I hope you set her straight."

"As straight as I could. And I let her know in no uncertain terms if she spouted this crap, it would hurt her more than us. She swallowed the threat. I think that'll keep her muffled for now. But for how long, if she can make hay with this juicy news. Who knows? She's a live wire."

"Okay, fine. So, Dee Dee mouths off eventually. What's the worst that can happen? You become Disastra and end up becoming a millionaire."

"Break my contract?"

"Chey, that was only really a worry when you didn't have a back-up plan. With how things are going now, as Disastra, you'll rake in enough to pay that fee in your first show. So what?"

"But think about the reputation I'll get as a contract breaker. You know how wrestlers get blackballed over shit like that."

"Right. And you give a shit, why? You remember who your father is, right? You could give Raucous your middle finger and laugh all the way to the bank under your dad's roster."

"But Ronan, you know my feelings on that."

I turn and stare into her eyes. "Yes, I do. And I've held my tongue. But you are acting like a nepo baby who is whining about her privilege. And by not accepting your father's help, you are actually putting other people out of jobs. You ever think of that? Disastra could be what makes Fool's Gold a household name around these parts. That's auxiliary work for half of Briarwood to start."

"I didn't mean to…"

"Yeah, well, you need to think of more than just yourself. You're the tip of the spear. Look at the people, the careers you're stalling behind that spear. Look, I'm sorry for being so hard. But it's been a day from hell, and I'm done pussyfooting around. You need to face reality, too, Chey. If not for yourself, maybe for others down the line."

I try to ignore the guilt that's heavy in my chest. I know I'm hurting her feelings, but it's for her own good.

Get in line for the hurt. We're all being used. She should realize how lucky she is to have her Dad willing to look after her in this business.