“Correct.”
“Cool.” Then she hung up and pocketed her phone.
Judging by the three stacked balconies, this seemed like an apartment complex. It was white, with some added black trims. It had a hedge, unkempt and a small driveway with a car or two. A tall wooden fence stretched from the other side, with a small ledge that made her bite her lip. It extended to the house and was conveniently close to the first-floor balcony. “Mmm….” Nodding, she ran towards the wall, leaping and planting her foot, then springing off to throw her body at the tall fence, her fingernails just inching on the lip. Her knees slammed against the wood, and she nearly slipped from the sweat on her hands, but she pulled up, pushing down until her body came over and her feet planted on the narrow ledge to stand, turn around and jump for the balcony. Her hands gripped the bottom rail of the metal-fenced balcony, flexing her arms and swinging her waist over to hook a foot on the ledge. She reached for the top lip, pushing up with gritted teeth, then using her wall-planted feet to front-roll, planting her feet on the very edge and standing straight, facing the yard, then hopping up again, throwing bent arms back to grab the bottom rail of the second balcony.
She dangled there, swinging back and forth a couple of times. She was ready to curl her body on the third, but a tiny dog barked. A white Shih Tzu. She stopped, looking over her shoulder and sighing, “Shhh-Shhh... Shoo.” It barked again, “Zip it. Zip. Ut. Shut your adorable face.”
“Kana!” A voice said. That came from a young girl who opened the glass-sliding door, first looking down at her dog, then up to Angelina, who was trying to curl up again but ultimately stopped when they said. “What are you doing?”
Angelina looked back again, sighing, “Ooooh, hey, kidarino. Fine day, ain’t it?”
They looked flat-faced, “It’s hot.” And Angelina nodded, “Yeah, fuckin’ nuts, man. Hey, uh, I’am just havin’ a little fun, that’s all. Kinda got a little too silly, now that I think about it.”
“Why is your hair, red?” The kid came over and leaned over the railing to look up. “Is that horns?”
Angelina pursed her lips, grumbling, “Yes, what does it look like? Horns, red-hair. You can see them, you know? Er… What’s your name?”
“Hana.”
“Right on, sick. I am Angelina.”
“That’s a pretty name.”
“A-Ah… Y-yeah. Right back at you, Kidarino. Say, Hana, you wanna play a game?”
“What kinda game?” Hana’s head tilted.
“A game where you give me a push when I swing.”
“You won’t fall off? You should come down. It’s not safe. My mommy can let you upstairs.”
“Yeah, I could. But I forgot my keys, so I need to go this way. Can ya help?”
“Mmmm. What do I win?”
“What do you win? Well, uh, I dunno. The point of games are to win, yeah? Winning ain’t enough?”
“I want red hair dye, like you. And horns.”
Angelina turned her head down, shaking. “I can’t give ya red hair dye or horns, man. Do I look like I carry that around?”
“Oh….” There was a bit of silence after, and Angelina bit her lip, pondering, then sighing.
“Look, I’ll get you some later, ok? You want somethin now, though? How about, you take the sucker that’s in my pocket. Cherry man, from America. I got a whole giant box of em.”
They nodded, beaming, “Ok!”
Angelina reached down into her skirt pocket, now dangling by one arm, pulling out two cherry suckers and fiddling with her fingers to push one out, holding it out to them. The child took it with glee but fidgeted with the plastic, pulling at random bits then trying to bite it.
“You gotta peel off the wrapper, like this.” Angelina bit on the top plastic slip, shaking her head like a dog and growling as it came off, then spitting to let it fall. The kid laughed, then did the same, and Angelina held hers out, “There ya go. Cheers?”
The kid looked puzzled, almost shy, then completed the gesture, bumping suckers.“Cheers!” Angelina said again, then inserted the cherry sucker in her mouth, the kid following suit.
“Right on. So how about tha’ push?”
Hana walked over to a chair and table set, pulled over a chair, then stood on it, placing her hands on Angelina’s exposed backside, just over the waistline. It brushed over on the lower left, over a thin but rather long patch of shrivelled skin, which made Angelina flinch. “Hey, a little to the right.” The kid obliged, “Ok. You ready?”
“Uh-huh.”
Angelina sucked in a deep breath, then began to swing a little. “Ok. One..two… three… Push!”
Hana shoved with a grunt, and Angelina’s legs swung forward, her mid-section curled, and she stretched out her feet, hooking the gap in the second-floor fences. She scaled up from there, eventually standing on the ledge, her feet under the rail, then vaulting over and landing on the balcony. The door was unlocked as she hoped, and she was moved by this dust-laid air from the sight of the kitchen and living room. Everything was dark, save for the sunlight. She flicked on the light switch right at her shoulder, and a yellow cast shone on the hardwood and white walls. The furniture was simple, with a black sofa decorated with a leather jacket on the arm and a sprawling fur blanket folded over at one side like someone slept there. A standard single-seat IKEA chair was not too far away, facing a TV. End tables filled with takeout boxes. A coffee table had uber eats, unwashed plates where the ketchup had gone dry. This mug was made of a horn, arching to one side that still had beer inside, stale by the looks and smelling like piss. The TV was like an old cube, and Angelina went over to see, wiping the dust from the screen to spot her own reflection. She squatted and found a ps3 on the lower shelf, then stacked games and movies below that. She picked them up and flipped through them, putting each one back as she read them out.
“GTA 4, Uncharted 2, The Last of Us, Bioshock, Streetfighter 4, Rock Band, bet there’s no fuckin’ instruments here, though. InFamous Lair, Dead Space… Yep, some taste here… As for you, mademoiselle… Kingdom of Heaven directors cut. The Dark Knight No Country for Old Men… Blueray. As for DVDs… Yeah, meh. Taratino nerd. Inglorious bastards! Wow. Bradd Pitt and his dorkish accent. Hahaha.”
She looked left, finding this tall wooden cabinet with a glass face. Inside, there were alcohol bottles, brown liquid, so she assumed rum and whiskey. She grabbed a Captain Morgen’s without a second thought, holding it by the neck, unscrewing the cap and taking a swig. Its fire burned through her throat and felt like it would melt through her stomach. She coughed when she took too much, then placed it back, continuing to hack as she continued throughout the house. It was a game of wow many dishes she could find, but there was mostly nothing than little nordic ornaments and scattered unpacked boxes that made these white walls feel claustrophobic. The bathroom was nothing of note. The kitchen was rather barren, with a white fridge with nothing but this lone, green-ish-looking orange. Their room was much more fun. She found ACDC posters scattered; one standard, the other for Ball Breaker… Black Sabbath too… Their bed was unmade, and the room itself had one window to catch the light. Near their closet of scattered clothes beneath hung-up clothes of leather jackets, jeans, muscle shirts, and plain dark-coloured t-shirts brethren was an acoustic guitar crowning the pile. “Sick!”
She sat on the bed with it, putting her fingers on the threats and giving it a strum. It sounded awkward, so she fine-tuned it, playing a little spell and tweaking until the whole melody sounded right. At their bedside, there was an end table that caught her eye. Not it personally, but the little necklace on top. Angelina set the guitar down, rolled over on end and sat up to snatch it up. It had this silver Thor’s hammer, which made her giggle. “D’aw. Cute.”
She stood up with it and donned it around her neck, looking down to see how it played with her cross necklace. “Yeah, yeah. Sexy shit.”
She stopped back in the living room, hands on her hips, surveying everything again… “Now, if I had keys to a terminator bike, where would I let them lounge around? Maybe…” She turned and walked towards the door, finding another table with a bowl. Inside, she found some keys, “That’s right bitch, we’re in business!” She swiped them up and looked back, taking a moment then affirming. There was nothing left here… So she unlocked the door and headed down the stairs until she came out the front. Hana was on the deck, who waved with her Shih Tzu, “Bye Angelina!”
Angelina turned and walked backwards, waving, “Bye Bye, Kidarino! Have a nice life!”
Then turned to jog down that alley, swiping up her board along the way. The bike had a tarp over it, which Angelina pulled off. From the seats, wheels, engine, and handlebars, it was entirely black. Angelina put the key in the ignition and turned it over, hearing its growl as it came to life. Her heart pounded as she wiped her forehead of sweat, “Hahaha! Yes!” Grabbing the handlebars and flicking up the stand, she walked the bike, turning it around then throwing a leg over to seat it. After a few revs, she took a deep breath, looking forward.
“Right… Just gotta… Do… Th-...” One twist of its accelerator and the bike screamed forward. Angelina yelled out, “THIS!” And she raced. She weaved through the back-alleys, dodging these little minute obstacles and folks who yelped as they caught her tailwind or a slap from her thrashing hair. “WOOOOOOHOOO!” She yelled. Ahead there were lined shops of a marketplace on a much thinner than her path. She didn’t realize as she leaned back, jerked the accelerator and popped her front wheel. When she saw it, her eyes went wide. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck….”
It was this blur of colours and passing eyes. Screams as folks jumped out of harm’s way. Static as their voices meshed together, slamming through a basket of produce and upending a wooden stand by smashing right through it, leaving it in splinters as her wheels ripped over tiny squares. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck…”
She took a sharp turn, leaning until her knees could almost touch the pavement, and the wheels stained her path black before she raced off. There were fewer people here, but she spotted a railing and nothing but the blue sky ahead. At first, she was perplexed, thinking this was a small divet hill, so she raced ahead, and the motorcycle and Angelina took flight as they raced off a three-flight staircase. “Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!”
Her teeth clenched, ghost-white, her hands welded to the bars and her arms stiffened into steel beams. The front-wheel slammed first, then the back and the undercarriage, which sparked across the pavement. Her lower half nearly left the seat, then slammed back on down, right on the tailbone, making her arch back and wince. “Eeeee..oooo…” She continued a little longer, driving onto this wide bridge over a crystal-blue lack, relishing in sunlight. Ornamental cherry trees lined the flanks, and she squeezed the breaks, the back tire popping up, then slapping down again, stopping right on the bridge’s heart. Everything about her body now felt sweat-licked. Her heart was like a vibrator. She panted, folded her arms over the handlebars and dipped her forehead against it to breathe. Then she laughed loudly, combing her hair back and sitting up with hands on her hips, looking to the trees and the lake, passing folks and what lies ahead. A simple path into more trees.
“Mm… Oh right.”
She dialled up the previous number and held it to her ear. “Ey-yo, I gotcha. I’m textin’ an address where we can do the shoot. That is if I don’t fly off any more stairs. See ya soon.”
Then she hung up and cruised off.
Today was good.
It’ll be hard to top it tomorrow… But she’d be damned if she didn’t. After all…
Time didn’t give back. It just eats and eats. And eats. There was no space to wait for the fun to arise. You must chase it like treasure. Take it. Run with it. Keep it. And when it’s time to let go, bleed it for all it’s worth. Or maybe leave it behind the second run. Angelina thought this when entering the wrestling world, just like when she did anything. Why not? Was another. Why not live the dream you stole from someone you held dear? You robbed him of the culmination of his passion, setting him back years, perhaps forever, into a pit of mediocre, just like when she followed him. He will remain nameless for that. Hahahahaha. What a fuckin’ soap opera. Shoulda quit whinin’ and started tryin’. Maybe his punk ass would be remembered if not for little ol’ someone. Whatever, though, it’s fine; she’s here as planned, rumbling down the hall on her board, lifting the nose to turn, then push, humming, hands in her skirt pockets.
Spoiler
Spoiler
“Oooh, shit. You shitbags gettin’ a little louda!” She stopped at the ramp, pressing down on the tail, lifting her knee to sit at the ramp’s lip. All these ant-sized or hive-minded faces blended together like an unfocused camera. Her heart pumped until she could hear her blood whirling around in her fingertips. She started breathing out her mouth, then dove into her pocket, grabbed her phone and held it on video, taping the masses, then onto her well-sculpted, horned face. “Eh-yo, you see that! This shit’s nuts! See yah on the flipside, I got something to say.”
The phone was pocketed, and she kicked her front wheels forward, now surging down the ramp, the wheels growled, and wind whistled by her ears. When the ring was just ahead, she leaped and slid underneath the bottom rope, air-swimming against the canvas to inch a few more feet, then used those same hands to pop her upper half-up, slide a knee under and stand. One punch to her shoulder, then the other. Her arms spread out, flipping birds and sticking out her tongue, her feet widening shoulder-width as a ringside attendant slid inside the ring to offer her the microphone. “Thanks, bud.” She finger-gunned.
When her music settled, any lingering crowd noise died with it. Angelina stood alone amongst the idling chit-chat of audiences, the majority silence and rumble from the larger audience in the far-away stands.
The microphone was raised as she brought her feet in to stand normally, nodding as she looked around. “Hey, dweebs. You ain’t know me,” She pointed to herself, pacing around, “And I ain’t know you.” She pointed outward, “I also ain’t a superstah like ya big wiggin’ prissy and proud motherfuckers. In fact, I’m pretty fuckin’ green. So let me introduce ya, to moi. My name is Angelina Tarrant. Some people call me A.T. The Marauder works too. I joined this industry, in fact, hardly a year ago. Big chunk that was just comin’ to Japan and saddling up for my first match here. And you know what? I’m feelin’ real good. I’ve stripped girls in matches, been stripped, fucked, been fucked, and punched a rockstar in the face on the side. Best of all, they payin me to do that. Can you imagine?”
She shook her head with a chuckle, “It’s god damn insane. Oooh, boy, it is. All these hot faces, all these tasty ambitions and life-long competitors, that prepare and want this their entire lives. Yet here I am. One year and I’m in the big-time leagues baby,. And when yah in the big-time, ya gotta make big moves, yeah? Otherwise, what ya doin’ here other than chuckle-fuckin’ around the place?”
She stopped her pacing to take the ring’s heart. Her eyes slowly switched left and right, smiling wider and wider, the self-satisfaction drooling from her lips. She pulled a set of keys from her pocket, hooking the chain with her index finger and raising it above her head to jangle. “Look at that!” The crowd was silent, but Angelina turned on her waist to show the crowd, then raised the microphone again. “I know, I know, super fuckin’ boring. Oooh, a little doggy charm, what a fuckin’ dork-smurf, right? Ah,” She lifted her index, “Let me tell ya a secret. Don’t tell no one, mmk? Mmmmmmmmmm…. These keys…. Used to belong to someone else.”
The crowd looked puzzled, almost unsatisfied with that incomplete answer. Used to be someone else’s. What did that mean? Angelina was more than willing to answer the subconscious question, and she pocketed the keys before speaking again.
“Yah, I know. Not that excitin’ either. Kinda fuckin’ vague, right? Well, if you’re not satisfied with that, allow me to show you this pre-prepared announcement. If I can avert your eyes to the big black square on the stage.”
Her mic pointed, and heads turned. The titantron raked people’s ears with static, then lifted into this shaky camera view, catching the sneaker’d lithe legs of Angelina and the start of her skirt. “Hey, come on, stop being a perv-nugget and point that shit up here.” Angelina’s video self said. It was a bright day out, with heat bathing the black streets beneath their feet. There was some red brick as the backdrop, and also jet-black wheels and an exposed slick engine, the arching tailpipe shadowed behind her calves. She hopped up and mounted the smooth and flat leather seat, the tail-end glistened as the sun-kissed it. Light also bounced off the clean frame, the circular headlight and low handlebars. Crisscrossing her legs and placing her hands on her knees, the crowd finally saw her face, and after taking a moment to fix her thorny horns, she waved and beamed.
Spoiler
Angelina stood in the middle of the ring, looking straight open. She was laughing with animated jittering shoulders. Her fingers shook, and she raised it overhead to see. Sweat was gleaming on her forehead, and her heart punched like a heavyweight against her ribs. “Fear again…” She determined.
There was immense fidgeting and fingering to hold the mic in that hand, and when she clasped, it felt almost wet. Her smile turned to a full ear-to-ear beam, pleased and sucking in one deep inhale. When she let it out, she said, “Like I said… You ain’t know me…. And I ain’t you… But something tells me, when we’re through, you’ll be callin’ me a superstah. Win o’ loss. Man. You will all celebrate with me the stupidity of my fuckin’ endurance. Because what ya don’t know is how deep my well truly goes. And that’s a fact. Bitch!”
The microphone dropped, and she walked to the ropes, stepping to the apron and jumping down. When she came to the ramp, she stopped, scratched her hand and looked left. “Uhhhhm, I want a slushie…” So she turned and jumped the barricade into the stands, where she walked up a laneway and exited through a door. She had the privilege of giving just one person a high five—the only one who had their hand out.