The Betrayed

In the dimly lit corridor of the Sheraton Brooklyn New York Hotel, there was a party going on in Jasper’s earbuds. A cross between a jazz enthusiast and a sleep-deprived zombie, his hotel uniform hung heavily upon his shoulders and his eyes carried the weight of a thousand room service trays.

Armed with a food cart stacked high with sandwiches, chocolate-dipped strawberries, and a mystery dish labeled “Chef’s Special,” he shuffled down the hallway while James Brown’s “Get Up Offa That Thing” kept his hips poppin’ and his knees from lockin’.

Many guests were already asleep, wrapped up in their heavily sanitized sheets. Jasper, however, was in his own world. He twirled a strawberry like a disco ball, humming along to the beat. So lost was he in James Brown, he didn’t even notice the duo bearing down on him.

The bass reverberated through Jasper’s body, causing him to jump and dance with abandon. Suddenly, he felt weightless and realized he was airborne. He crashed into the drywall and stuck there. The room service cart that had been rolling with him moments earlier now careened past him, its contents scattered across the floor like debris from an explosion. Jasper could only watch in shock as it hurtled end over end before crashing to a stop, leaving a trail of mashed potatoes, strawberries, and chicken fingers in its wake.

He stared at the cause of the disturbance.

“That is one big motherfucker…”

—

It was one of the higher end rooms at the Sheraton, suitable for a would-be Universal Champion. Jared Sykes had bested FLAMBERGE, and that meant Jonathan-Christopher Hall knew what lay ahead. While his Amazing Life Partner laid passed out on the king sized bed, snuggled in crisp white and pink sheets and buried in pillows, Jonathan-Christopher couldn’t catch a wink.

The young man stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, overlooking the city skyline. He only wore PRETTY PINK© boxer shorts, and yet sweat beaded on his forehead as he considered how far he had come and how much farther he still had to go. Jared Sykes was the wrong outcome. He was the trauma that caused Jonathan-Christopher’s woman to pass out early. PTSD was a serious diagnosis and Sykes was the reason she-

BANG!

A sudden explosion pulled him out of his thoughts. The door flew forward as it was kicked in, the chain lock and deadbolt no match for the intruder. JCH jumped, instantly concerned for Vickie’s safety, but she remained asleep and undisturbed by the commotion.

Through the shattered doorway strode Ivan Stanislav, his crimson uniform intact from the earlier ReVival. He paid no attention to the swinging light fixture, which crashed against his shoulder, casting menacing shadows across the room. Alexei followed behind him, plucking an apple from the refrigerator and casually munching.

JCH stood frozen until a powerful blow of Stanislav’s open palm threw his upcoming tag partner into the dresser and television, disorienting him. While Hall tried to make sense of just what was happening, the Russian grabbed him by the hair and jaw and effortlessly lifted him off the floor.

“Jonathan-Christopher Hall,” Ivan growled, “how dare you slander my name!”

JCH struggled and choked out, “Ivnn… whad’yu meen?” The entire side of his face throbbed and his ear wouldn’t stop ringing. He glanced at Vickie in the hopes she might awake.

She rolled over.

Ruslan made his way over to the windowsill and drew the blinds. Then, he effortlessly produced a recorder and pressed play. Jonathan-Christopher’s voice filled the room.

“If you can manhandle Ivan Stanislav like FLAMBERGE manhandled him-”

Hall’s eyes went wide with realization and panic as he heard his own words. Stanislav fully wrapped his hand around Jonathan-Christopher’s throat. “After all I have done for you,” he seethed. “I taught you how to promo. I put together our War Games team. I defeat Avalon and Gamble by myself… and you speak ill of me?!”

Ivan shook JCH back and forth like a rag doll. “And now, dear boy, we are forced to team up against Colton and Tsonda. Tell me, what bullshit are you going to spout next time I save your sorry ass? If I save your sorry ass?!”

Considering the pressure around his throat, Stanislav clearly didn’t expect an answer. He shoved JCH back against the nearby dresser with a crash. Ivan was anything but subtle, and despite the noise Vickie did not stir. Ruslan stared at her curiously before checking her pulse. He lifted both brows.

“You are on notice, you ungrateful bastard,” Stanislav glowered down at JCH. “Cross me again and you will not ever cross me again. Let us go, Alyosha.”

Ruslan sneered as he walked past JCH. He spoke loudly to Ivan, but clearly meant for Jonathan-Christopher to hear. “You know, Starshy Praporshchik, if you had his wife she would not sleep one wink!”

“DYAAHAAHAA!!”

And with that, both Stanislav and Ruslan stormed off, leaving JCH trembling against the dresser. He coughed and gasped for air while staring wide-eyed at the fallen door. Slowly, the thudding footsteps of The Russian Bear grew fainter as he thundered down the corridor.

—

He fucked up big time.

Jonathan-Christopher sat in the corner of the bathroom, slowly rocking back and forth. It was a position he was accustomed to when going through sheer panic. It helped him control his breathing. Furthermore, it helped him focus.

If only it was working.

Inside the hotel room, through the long winding floor and up the gorgeous king-sized bed, laid the love of his life, Vickie, sound asleep as Jonathan-Christopher winced and sniffled through the night. Oh, she was going to be so disappointed upon hearing how Jonathan-Christopher messed up on commentary. Dear God, she had already scolded him for a poor representation of himself the moment they walked behind the curtain. Of course, Vickie was in no shape to provide a comprehensive overhaul regarding all of JCH’s flubbers. She demanded her own means of support. Seeing Jared Sykes reach the mountaintop was the apex of a crisis.

Needless to say, thanks to Ivan’s fury, Jonathan-Christopher knew he was in deep shit.

How was he going to tell Vickie what happened?

And yet, up in that luxurious bed, deep within the countless covers wrapped around her dainty little bod…

She already had one eye open. She giggled, too. But Jonathan-Christopher couldn’t hear it.

Because Jonathan-Christopher was crying.

—

Can you hear me Ivan? It’s me, Jonathan-Christopher.

Oh boy, I honestly don’t know what I was thinking. I never meant to say anything bad about you. I was caught in the moment. Vickie says I haven’t been thinking straight since I won the Almasy Tournament. She says I’ve grown a big ego. She’s hurt I didn’t stand up for her and fix the award voting (or lack thereof).

Of course FLAMBERGE can’t hold a candlestick to your Russian flame. I darn gone messed up.

I am a wreck. Vickie welcomes openness and honesty in our relationship. She says it should transcend to all areas of our lives. Well, Ivan, I need to build a healthy relationship with you. So here I am, Jonathan-Christopher Hall. A man. That’s all I am. A man with faults and a man who makes mistakes. I *am* crying while writing this to you, scared of how you’re going to react. Fearful you might shut down on me, if you haven’t already. This could go in many different directions when I am not worthy of your forgiveness. But I have to be vulnerable to show you how much our friendship means.

I had a friend once. His name was Nate. He was a nice man, with a good heart. Vickie thought we’d take him in, too. But you see, he was insincere. He took Vickie’s hospitality for granted. Ivan, it also hurt me. Watching the love of my life break as Nate told us he wasn’t going to join our special little convoy. It dug deeper than that, though. I felt Nate and I had a beautiful connection. We were two souls weaving in and out of the wrestling world, pushed and pulled by outsiders who didn’t care.

Ah, there I go again, messing up. This doesn’t have to do with Nate. It has everything to do with you and I.

I don’t know what more I can offer you but an honest, heartfelt apology.

I am sorry.

I need to get my head on straight. Vickie is right, as always. My pending Universal opportunity is a singular event. WarGames is a team concept and you are our fearless leader. You’ve already taken me to great heights. Defeating Coral Avalon was a massive goal since I walked into this organization. Little did you know, Vickie’s father used to employ Coral. It was very important to Vickie and her father that he bowed to our will. Vickie was pleased that night, so greatly pleased, and she said it couldn’t have been done without you.

Now she requires justice against Nate Colton. I failed her the first time…

You are special, Ivan. I deserved your backhand. I deserved a lot more if I’m honest.

So how can I make this up to you?

I have a thought. You have provided guidance, you have kept my wrestling momentum on a roll. Yet for a relationship to truly blossom this has to be a two-way street. I have taken and taken and taken from you. Now, I NEED to give.

Let me show you through my actions how much I want to make it right.

If you aren’t listening to me anymore, jeesh, I don’t blame you. However, if you are, Vickie said she’d like you to meet us at a place of your choosing so we can bury my mistake in the ground. Then I start to earn your trust back.

Start. I’m going to have to wait weeks, if not months to earn it.

I’ve hurt you.

I’m sorry.

Please, please, forgive me.

-Jonathan-Christopher Hall

PS. Vickie says to text her. She took my phone away.

—

Ivan Stanislav’s rumbling voice reverberated through the tense silence of his office while Arina stood next to him.

“I don’t understand how Freeman and Schwartz could have gotten into my office,” Ivan said, his frustration evident in every word.

Arina shook her head, unable to offer an explanation. Ivan’s eyes scanned the room, landing on a small pile of leftover sand in the corner. Moscow had its beaches, but not tropical sand.

The dutiful assistant tried to allay Ivan’s concerns. “Mr. Ruslan must have missed this when he cleaned,” she grabbed a broom. “And he is usually such a thorough man.”

Ivan blinked curiously and his heart rate increased. Alexei had been in his office without permission or notice? And without ever telling him? Ivan’s throat dried.

Something wasn’t right, and it was more serious than Freeman and Schwartz.

He dismissed Arina and cleaned alone. His concern got the best of him as he checked his desk drawers. They were all locked, and when he unlocked them all of his folders and personal items were meticulously in place. The Kulikov file taunted him with its unfinished business.

He slammed the drawer shut and re-locked it. These damned Halls were killing him. Jonathan-Christopher was a disaster and Vickie a constant unknown. Still, her husband could actually win the title from Sykes. And if so? Jonathan-Christopher was desperate enough to at least try to give Ivan a shot at the Universal Title. Lindsay Troy contingent, of course.

Ivan’s frustration amplified as he glared at the nearby windowsill. It was a favorite place for Ruslan to place a bug. He watched him do it so easily in the Hall’s hotel room. But would he stoop so low as to surveil his best friend?

Before Ivan could walk to the sill itself, a loud fanfare erupted from his computer. An email notification from Jonathan-Christopher, filled with blatant honesty and pathetic squirming.

“Arina!” He barked, summoning her once more.

She appeared instantly, her hands grasping a notepad and pen.

“I want the Halls here immediately,” he ordered, rubbing his temples with frustration. “Book them at Hotel Metropol, no expenses spared.”

Arina nodded dutifully, but her face fell at the mention of the hopelessly dysfunctional couple.

“And one more thing,” Ivan added. His words, though forceful, were tinged with sympathy, “Get in touch with Vickie and make sure everything is arranged.”

Arina’s expression turned sour as she considered dealing with Vickie Hall.

“Anything for the Motherland, Arina.” Ivan’s bitter thoughts went to Alexei as he watched her leave. Would his best friend do anything for the Motherland?

Ivan lacked the courage to approach the windowsill.

—

The Bolshoi Theater was a magnificent sight to behold. Here, the grand hall was surrounded by rich colors and lavish decorations. The ceiling was painted with a fresco of Apollo and the muses, wreathed in a golden frame. Chandeliers sparkled with crystal and light while red velvet curtains concealed the stage. The walls were decorated with portraits of famous composers, actors, and dancers. Despite all the impressive accomplishments and lasting impacts of those around him, Ivan's gaze remained fixed on the stage where he could see flashes of his mother, graceful and full of life, dancing in a ballet performance.

She was silent. Her lightness and grace defied gravity. She spun and leaped, her white dress fluttering like mist on the White Sea. She was proud and focused as she twirled once more and stared at her son. Then, with an ethereal nod, she faded from his sight.

“My propropstick! Fucking right, darling! HOW! ARE! YOOOOOOU!?!?!?”

Before the Russian Bear could say anything, Vickie added, “I hear my Amazing Life Partner is an Amazing Dumbfounded Buffoon!”

Ivan gulped down the lump in his throat and blinked away the moisture as he turned to see the Halls walking down the aisle with Arina in tow. He adjusted his crimson uniform. Vickie, proud and tall, led the way, her PRETTY PINK© outfit blossoming even louder than normal. And Jonathan-Christopher, who should have been proud of his accomplishments and upcoming Universal Championship match… one would never know. Head down, chin sunken into the depths of his neck. He wore a black buttoned-up dress shirt, half-tucked into his black dress pants. His belt, off-center and hair rather disheveled for a man who usually presented himself as neat and tidy. Upon plain view, it was clear the two of them had recently had very one-sided conversations. The boy was put in his place.

“Mrs. Hall!” Ivan said politely, producing a box for Vickie and opened it. A pink Russian Kokoshnik headdress complete with red hearts and yellow hammers and sickles rested inside.

“I am not one for high fashion, Mrs. Hall, but I had this crafted for your beautiful head.” He offered the box to her. “Please, sit.” He cut his eyes over at Jonathan-Christopher for a moment and then ascended a small set of stairs so that they could sit at a table on the edge of the stage. A vase of red and yellow tulips sat at one edge.

Vickie’s eyes scanned the flowers from left to right, right to left, and back again. Her bold, wide eyelashes flickered only once before she met eyes with the leader of their WarGames team.

“I adore. I do, I do,” she mentioned as she went into her annoying, try-way-too-hard Russian accent. “So nice for man to think of me for once!”

The dagger in JCH’s heart was shoved in further.

“I know Moscow is no Kentucky Chicken, but I hope your trip was pleasant one. Arina here has you settled in one of finest Moscow hotels, and you will not want for anything while you visit.” Arina poured water for the guests and produced a plate of various traditional Russian snacks, to include zefiri marshmallows, vatrushka pastry, and sushki bread rings.

“Listen,” Vickie cut to the chase. She leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. “He’s a moron, he doesn’t think.”

Vickie stuck her left index finger rather hard into her temple and then even more harshly into Jonathan-Christopher’s.

“Go ahead, tell the man.”

He was tentative. Shy and embarrassed. But they went through this, many, many times.

“I’m an idiot,” he said in a low and whimpering voice. “Thank you for reading my email. I am sorry.”

The room breathed for a good number of seconds. Stanislav’s face was stony and he popped a sushki into his huge mouth. He nodded. “It will take some time for me to get over betrayal, Jonathan-Christopher. Reading your admission about Nate Colton, I hope you know how I feel. You hurt me like Colton did you.” He clicked his tongue and shook his head with disappointment.

The look upon Vickie’s face suggested her Amazing Life Partner better realize just how bloody amazing Ivan Stanislav was for giving him a second chance.

Ivan straightened up in his seat, “Your wife is a charming woman,” he began, “and it is hard to not feel compelled to help your family. Once again, I offer my assistance in defending your honor by defeating Colton and Tsonda. Colton insulted fine Victoriya here?” Ivan shifted his jaw slightly, while Vickie giggled in glee at the thought of a man being so daunting to call her by her full name. “Not on my watch. And Tsonda needs lesson in humility. Eighteen years ago he had gall to try to recruit me to A-List. That self-absorbed fool. He tried to compare Alias Title to MY Universal Title? To imagine, me follow him? For him to be at all equal to The Russian Bear?” Ivan bore holes into Jonathan-Christopher, “The memory of those who slight The Russian Bear does not fade with time, only with deeds.” He hoped the subtext wasn’t lost on Jonathan-Christopher.

Vickie merely nodded along. Jonathan-Christopher tried to do the same but the boy couldn’t help but feel like he didn’t know how to respond and, perhaps, by responding less, he was removing himself from the equation, no longer becoming the problem.

“Ivon, dearest,” the Woman of Wonder chimed in, “Jonathan-Christopher and I talked all night long. We know you’re going to need to see proof of change.”

That smile. Coy and clever. Vickie was clearly into what she was laying down.

“For trust is earned and Jonathan-Christopher is going to take those steps.”

She leaned forward again, this time her bushy eyebrows lowered along with her eyelids.

“From here on, my Amazing Life Partner is your shield. His goal is to protect you, my wonderful Teddy Bear,” Vickie’s eyes shifted. With a hint of a blush, Ivan leaned forward and engulfed her hand in his own and squeezed. She checked her surroundings to ensure what she would disclose next would be safe. “Let’s be real. Arthur Peasant, Kenny Friedman… my man has more raw talent than your guys.”

She waved her hands towards JCH, as if she was a magician and pulled him out of thin air.

“Jonathan-Christopher is the number one contender. He outlasted every single person in the tournament. Defeated Jared Skypes, put the first L on Cecilworth.” A rare, serious compliment from the tiny girl. But it was a compliment with an underlying purpose. “Jonathan-Christopher is good. Nobody gives him enough credit. My love is a little rough around the edges but he’s a solid prospect who’s blooming. With a little bit of Russian seasoning, dare I say, he can be greatest asset?”

The Timid Tiger choked up. “War Games is the most important match of the weekend,” he proclaimed. “I have to make sacrifices. Vickie and I talk about sacrifices all the time. I’m going to make them for you, too.”

Ivan remained deadpan, taking in the proposal as it unfolded.

And this time, too, a hesitant Jonathan-Christopher Hall leaned forward, attempting to channel the fortitude and sheer arrogance of his ALP. Instead, nervousness dropped from every orbit. But give the boy credit, he was trying his best.

“I said FLAMBERGE manhandled you?” He asked rhetorically. “From now on I am here to serve you completely.”

He paused and looked over at Vickie. This was exactly what they talked about, in length, and he had to come clean.

Jonathan-Christopher squeaked out the following.

“Go ahead, I am your shield.”

Deep breath. Pause.

“Manhandle me.”

Vickie grinned. Eventually, Ivan grinned. Then Vickie chuckled. Ivan chuckled. Vickie laughed profusely. Ivan added a hearty bellow. The two would continue to enjoy the moment. The thought. The plan moving forward.

While the number one contender solemnly sat there in silence.