The Trade

Then

He didn’t know what city they were in, only that the afternoon traffic had been so bad that he’d nearly missed his call time. For most of the roster this wouldn’t have been a problem, but this was his first appearance after signing with Cyber Championship Wrestling.

He didn’t know the name of the building, only that a large bank was involved. Their branding was everywhere, and still he couldn’t focus.

There were likely more people working in the arena that night than the sum of everyone who’d ever seen him wrestle while he was toddling around the New England independent scene. The locker room alone was almost as big as the armory where he experienced his first official match while still in training.

He didn’t know the man who answered the phone at the Calvin house, only that he wasn’t the person Jared had hoped to talk with. He knew that reaching out to Justine at this point was foolish, an exercise bound to end in disaster. They’d trained together, become close, and then on the night that they celebrated their graduation that friendship raced to its logical conclusion. Matter and antimatter crashed into each other and erased it all. He still didn’t know why she’d left before dawn.

The time was drawing closer. Any minute now they’d send someone to fetch him because he’d no doubt missed his queue and didn’t show up in the ready position when he was supposed to. The entire show would be delayed while a member of the production crew went on a manhunt to find the idiot with the garden gnome, and then he’d back on the indies trying to figure out his next gig.

Reason said he should have already been there, sitting out of the way and waiting until it was time for his match. Show the people in charge that he was serious about this. But reason and logic had been evicted hours ago. The anxiety was driving now, swerving blindfolded between emotions as it carved a path through the bowels of the building.

He found a temporary reprieve in the loading docks, now mostly empty save for a few stragglers. Since all the equipment was in use there would be no need for anyone to occupy this spot for hours, so it made for a perfect place to hide until it was time to step through that curtain. Would he still be the same person on the other side, or would he become the man his brother always thought he was?

He glanced at his hand and the picture it contained - two boys covered in frosting, smiling as they celebrated a shared birthday. Years ago it had been part of a Christmas gift, but he’d taken it with him as a reminder of why he did this in the first place. A piece of tape still clung to it, and he gently pried it free so as not to damage the image underneath.

“Ain’t you supposed to be somewhere else?” Mason Collier called out from around a cigarette at the other side of the bay. “Y’know, somewhere not here?”

Jared’s hand closed around the picture, a delicate balance between trying to hide it while making sure it didn’t get crushed. Within a few weeks he’d perfect the move. By year’s end Jared would be quite adept at one particular sleight of hand, making the photo disappear before anyone realized he was holding it.

“Sorry,” he said, making sure not to look up or make eye contact.

“Don’t apologize to me, kid. I ain’t the one payin’ ya.”

“Just didn’t realize this was your spot.”

“What, you think they got my fuckin’ name on the deed?” Collier barked a laugh. “Ain’t my money, ain’t my building. Only place I can get a smoke, is all. Like to get one in before a fight. Part of the routine. Allen looks in a mirror and pretends to be tough. Cutie plays lovey-dovey with his girl. This? This is what I do.”

“Cutie?” Jared regretted the question as soon as it left his lips.

“Yeah, Mercutio, or whatever-the-fuck. Pretty boy who thinks he’s a vampire, or some shit. I dunno.” Collier flicked an ash onto the loading bay’s floor. A deliberate gesture, as the outside ground was only an extra foot away. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Jesus H., this ain’t a hard question. You got a thing?”

“No.”

“Yeah? Ain’t what I heard. People ‘round here sayin’ you got a thing for elves.”

“What, you mean Earl?”

“Earl? You gave the elf a fuckin’ name?”

Jared wanted to protest, to say that Earl was a garden gnome, but thought better of it. Beyond the brief exchange they’d had, Coldheart Collier enjoyed a reputation as a locker room terror.

After an awkward moment of silence, Collier tossed his cigarette onto the pavement, then reached into his pocket to fetch another from the pack.

“Anyway, you should prob’ly be on your fuckin’ way. Don’t wanna get fired your first night for screwin’ up the order, do ya’?”

Jared nodded, then turned and moved towards the building proper.

“One more thing,” Collier called out behind him. “Some free advice for ya’... Do a better job of hidin’ that thing next time, huh?” He gestured with his lighter towards Jared’s closed hand. “Don’t want people talkin’, cuz believe me they will talk.”

#

I started this journey because I wanted to honor someone very close to me. This - being a wrestler - was all your uncle ever wanted to do. Not me though. I was an artist. I had different dreams.

And then one Christmas when we were kids, he made me something as a gift. He drew a picture of me as a superhero, and taped a photo of the two of us to it. They’re both in a shadowbox now, two pieces put back together as one. I decided to hang it in the living room, so that everyone who comes to the house can see it.

But what they can’t see is the message written on the back of the photo. That’s just for a few people to know about it.

Your grandmother’s seen it. So has your mom.

It says, “I love you JJ. You’re my hero for always and ever.”

For the longest time that was the only person I wanted to be, because Andy - your uncle - he was the most important person in my life.

I started this journey because of him, so I brought his photo with me everywhere I went. From that very first night out traveling on the road, and then all across the world.

In every city, in every town, I had my “reason” right there with me.

And then, just before your mom and I had our wedding, I went to a city called Strasbourg.

#

Jared

“Hey, doesn’t this remind you of one of those alien abduction movies?”

A quick glance around the room was all it took to realize that, yes, it did give off those same vibes. The room was dark, which I would later learn was so the image on the screen could be seen easier. There was a fixture overhead, but it had been dimmed to the point where it might as well have been off. The only light came from a nearby monitor, and the display might as well have been in a different language. Justine was reclining on an examination table, the center of attention, in a room that was just cold enough to notice.

“Look!” She pointed to the only other person in the room with us, a technician whose name tag identified her as Mia. “She’s even got a probe.”

As if on queue, Mia held up the device and gave it a little wiggle. There is a very specific image that comes to mind whenever someone mentions aliens and probes in the same breath, and what Mia held didn’t check either of those boxes. It looked more like a deodorant stick that someone had glued a cord onto. Still, if there’s anything I’d learned in the last few months it’s that you don’t argue with the pregnant lady.

Alright, Cal. You win. I’m not saying it’s aliens, but it’s aliens.

“You’re not the first person who’s made that comparison.” Mia laughed. “But this one doesn’t work like that.”

Among PRIME employees, Justine and I had become outliers. The company had been touring Europe since the end of March, and a large portion of the roster had elected to stay on the continent and use the opportunity to see parts of the world they wouldn’t otherwise be exposed to. In any other situation we might be there with them, but there were appointments to make and a wedding that was now only days away, which meant bouncing back and forth across the Atlantic.

This appointment in particular was one that I’d been dreading. Justine had been scheduled for an ultrasound, just a routine part of the process. I should have been excited. I admit, a part of me was, but my thoughts don’t just intrude. They invade. They break down the barricades and lay siege to reason, razing everything in their wake until I’ve convinced myself that I’m destined for the worst possible outcome.

My therapist calls it ‘catastrophizing’.

For months, doctors had told us that we were going to have a hard time getting pregnant because of our age. There would be an increased chance of complications. Every conversation was a thin veneer of optimism couched in existential dread. They were just being thorough. Everyone doing their jobs to make sure we knew the risks.

And now we were going to see for the first time whether or not they had reason to worry.

Justine reached out and took my hand. She was still smiling, but the facade had started to crack. I wasn’t the only one who was worried.

“Okay, if you’re ready to start then we can get going.”

Justine nodded, and Mia set about her work. After a while, she angled the monitor towards us.

“Jared, look.” The grip on my hand tightened.

“I know. I see.”

I could feel her hand start to tremble, and a wave of relief hit us both.

There, on the screen, the outline of a face in black and white.

A little girl.

Healthy. Perfect. Dreaming.

And so very real.

#

I could feel them, their energy causing the entire building to vibrate. Any minute now Strasbourg was going to get to see what they came for, the hometown hero against the man who took away his title. Who broke his unprecedented undefeated streak. Was it justice they wanted, or revenge?

At this point, did it matter?

Most people I’ve talked to think that the aftermath of a match is pretty cut and dry. If you lose, then you’re upset. If you win, then you’re elated. I admit that more often than not this is how things tend to play out, but not always.

When Jonathan-Christopher took the Universal Championship from me I was disappointed, but that wasn’t all I felt. There was also hope. Not for me, but for him. I hoped that maybe by winning that his life would turn around. That if winning that championship is what his wife needed, then maybe actually having it could bring them a little closure. This, despite everything they’d done.

When your mom and I celebrated winning that same title in New York, I concede I was happy. To have that validation is something that I think anyone would want, but there was also relief. I went into that fight telling myself that this was for you. That it was for your mom. Losing, at least to me, would mean that I’d disappointed you both.

Over the next few days a new feeling crept in, one that I didn’t expect. Guilt.

In his rise to the top, Julien had set new records. Broken new ground. That he’d done it all despite an overbearing father - one that by all accounts pushed him too hard - only made it more special. I meant everything I said about him. He earned every flower.

What no one tells you when you get into this line of work is that your success means someone else’s failure. There are no moments when everybody wins, there is only The Trade. Equivalent exchange. One joy for one sorrow.

My win meant celebrating with my oldest friends. It meant getting to stand in my hometown for the first time in years as the pinnacle, the apex. Short lived as it might have been. It meant your mom getting that moment for the first time in her life, and using it to tell the world about you.

But it meant that Julien had to watch, and wonder what it would feel like to be in that position.

That guilt went away after the title changed hands again, passing from me to Jonathan-Christopher.

One joy for one sorrow.

It came back when I found out what I would be doing when PRIME went to Strasbourg, because it meant that Julien would get the opportunity to avenge that defeat and make himself whole again.

It came back, because part of my job means standing in his way, and trying to deny him the moment.

The rules of The Trade demand it.

#

Justine

There was a park not far from the hospital, and Justine insisted that a walk would do the both of them a world of good. They’d each been nervous ahead of the appointment, and each had tried to hide it from the other so as not to compound the problem. Now, in the wake of reassurance, they had the emotional comedown to deal with.

“Two women,” Jared had said. “I’m going to be so outnumbered. I’ll never win an argument again.”

He didn’t win many to begin with.

She took his hand the moment they hit the elevator and never let go. She’d come prepared with a plan, and it was time to see it done. Twice she caught herself skipping along the sidewalk, and twice she apologized for swinging his arm back and forth.

When it happened the third time, she found him bounding alongside her and wondered what it must look like to the people around them. Her showing after four months. Him with pink highlights in his hair. Peter Pan and a pregnant Wendy flying through the streets of Massachusetts.

They paused at a stop light and watched a procession of children at the crosswalk. They couldn’t have been older than four, and each wore a matching tee shirt - no doubt a daycare enjoying a spring field trip. All of them held on to a rope to keep everyone together, with a group of chaperones to make sure they were safe.

“You think this is their first time out like this?” Jared asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“We take this stuff for granted. Just being out and walking around. But for those kids… How many new things do you think they saw just walking to the park?” They watched the procession pause so one of the teachers could help a little boy tie his shoe. “It won’t be long before we’re hearing stories about adventures like this.”

This was why she brought him here, to this spot. To get a glimpse of their future, of life after wrestling.

“I can’t wait, Jared. Like, I really can’t.”

“I know. Me either.”

The lights changed, signaling their turn to cross. She led him to a bench about a hundred feet from the playground. The spot had been picked out earlier in the week, after she’d left the house to do a bit of reconnaissance. It offered just the right amount of privacy for the conversation that she planned to have.

Justine took a deep breath, steeled herself, and began.

“So, have you given any thought to names?” It wasn’t the first time she’d broached the subject; that came on the day that she told him she was pregnant. “Because we’re going to have to actually pick one soon.”

“A little bit. Mostly I’ve just been thinking that as long as it’s-“ He caught himself and grinned. “As long as she’s healthy, that that was the most important thing. I know that your family has a tradition about J names for girls.”

“We do, but it’s not a hard rule or anything. It comes from my mom’s side, but I have a great aunt Adelaide, so.” She shrugged.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. It’s not something that we need to keep if we don’t want to.”

Jared raised an eyebrow, and Justine imagined a tiny version of herself making that same face in a few years.

“So… No tradition then?”

“I’m just saying that if we come up with something else, then that’s cool.”

“Have you come up with something else? Because I’m getting a vibe here.”

“I might have an idea, yeah,” she said.

“And are you going to tell me what it is, or…?”

“I am. Yes. Okay.”

She took another breath, and closed her eyes.

This is your husband. You’ve known each other since you were twenty years old. In two weeks you’re getting married, and then a few months after that you’re giving birth to the child you conceived together. You know his deepest secrets, the ones he doesn’t tell anyone else. You trusted him with an opportunity at the big time.

You can do this, Justine.

She opened her eyes. He was still looking at her, but his eyebrow had come back down to earth. In its place was the faintest hint of the smile, the one he flashed when he knew she was hiding something good.

“Andrea,” she said.

She studied him looking for a response, a reaction of any kind. For a moment he sat in silence, and then, for the first time since leaving the hospital, he let go of her hand. He leaned forward on the bench, resting his elbows on his knees, then brought both hands to his face.

She moved closer, placing a hand on his back and resting her chin on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to… I just thought… I know what Andrew means to you, and my parents named my brother Vito after my grandfather passed, so… Shit. I’m sorry, Jared.”

“No. No, don’t apologize.” He sniffed and rubbed at his eye.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Justine… Cal, I… I can’t ask you to do this. To name her after my brother, I…”

“You’re not asking,” she said. “Do you know what that name means?”

He exhaled a staccato breath as he nodded. “Strong. Courageous.”

“I would love nothing more than for her to be those things.”

“Like her mom.”

“And kind and compassionate like her dad.”

“And you’re sure about this?”

“It’s the first name I thought of when we started trying last summer.”

The smile that spread across his face was all the confirmation she needed. He leaned back in the bench and put his arm around her shoulder, drawing her in.

“Andrea,” he said, as if testing the word.

“Andrea Jade,” she added. “I know I said earlier we don’t have to have a J name, but my mom would never let me hear the end of it.”

“Andrea Jade,” he repeated. “It’s perfect.”

#

Now

Before the match could begin, there was a ritual to uphold.

For the last few months, Jared had eschewed the locker room that he and Justine had been assigned in favor of getting dressed with the rest of the roster. Cal wasn’t in the arena that night, a decision that they’d made together. The reaction to Jared in Paris was beyond what either of them expected, and tonight held the chance for escalation. He would give Strasbourg the villain they wanted, offering himself as a dragon for Julien Lavigne to try and slay in front of the city where he was born.

But for now, France could wait. There were other matters to attend to.

In his left hand, as he’d done for decades, Jared held a photo. It was small enough that he could quickly conceal it if the need arose, should prying eyes become too curious. His fingers traced a shape on the plastic laminate, outlining the contours of a face. The features were still grainy in pixelated grey and white, but he could make out the shape of her nose and the curve of her lips.

He wondered what she dreamed about, if she dreamed at all.

Paxton Ray and the end of Jonathan Rhine’s career. Wyatt Connors and ten years of shameful exile. Vickie Hall and a new meaning for “death by chocolate.”

So much had been given, and soon it would all be behind him.

Twenty-four years traded for a lifetime of bliss.