Day in the Life

by Belial

 

"It's legit. Hey Bran? You awake?"

 

"Yeah. Yeah. It's legit. How legit?"

 

"10k appearance fee, winner takes 20. You could clear 30K, less my fee of course."

 

"Of course."

 

"You know, I don't have to deal with you, but the buyer wants blonde and short. You're perfect. Are you still there?"

 

"Send the contracts. And I want to see photos this time."

 

"Hey ­ don't you trust me?"

 

"Just send the papers."

 

Brandy Carpenter fingered the speaker phone off and rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling while the single cream sheet twisted about her copper-toned body. White light streamed into the bedroom from the half open window ­ the ocean crashed in the distance. It was another perfect southern California morning, if you had nothing to do but enjoy it. And pay for it. As long as you could pay for it, Brandy reflected, it was paradise. She lay on her back, hands beneath her shoulder length blonde tousle for a very long time.

 

* * * * * *

 

The woman in the 8 by 10s was full figured, bottle blonde down to her waist, compact, but powerful looking. 5'2", give or take, broad shouldered, thickly armed and curvy legged. She was trying to look young with the hair-do and the tan, but Brandy figured her to be right about the same age as she. Here was one of her poolside: thin lips in a broad smile, big round sunglasses, bikini showing her natural, chesty cleavage, umbrella drink in her left hand. Here was one of her seated, crushing some poor doe at the waist. She had the brunette by the wrists and was clearly enjoying the torture ­ the girl on the floor between her legs was screaming, mouth wrenched open as her ribs soaked it up. Here was one of her holding another bikini'd blonde in the crook of her left arm, dutifully slugging little right hands at the girl's dazed face. The blonde punched with just the hint of a smile on her parted lips.

 

"I don't want any punching." said Brandy.

 

"Guy'll probably pay extra."

 

"No punching, Billy." Brandy continued to flick through the pictures, some candid, some action as Bill lifted his eyebrows and sucked on his cooler. The umbrella overhead rustled in the breeze as rollerbladers and pedestrians floated by. It was hot: Billy had slicked his black curly hair back for the occasion. Hey ­ he'd mention the wrinkles to her, but he wasn't going to push. Brandy was money in the bank - a cash cow one could say ­ whatever she didn't want to do, she didn't have to. After a minute she put the pictures down and took up the pen. She signed the contract she had written herself, then sipped her tonic and lime.

 

"Girl got a name?" Asked Brandy.

 

"Tracy Hess," said Billy, squinting through dark lenses across the sand, "she's been at this a while. Beat Michelle straight up a couple of months ago ­ kind of an upset. You worried?"

 

"After last time, let's just say I check the fine print." Billy smiled. The 'last time' in question, Brandy had stepped onto the mat with a girl a good deal bigger and heavier than she ­ a slight oversight on Billy's part. Brandy had won, but she'd gotten hurt and had to take a couple months off to rest her battered body. It had been an expensive vacation, and rather longer than expected. For the first time in her career, Brandy had passed on a couple fights, being selective as to opponent and style. No punching. Billy never thought he'd hear that from Brandy's lips. But she was getting up there ­ late 20s maybe even early 30s ­ if Brandy didn't want to take it like the honeys on the beach, she had earned the break, paid her dues. Guy'd pay anyway, and that was one less headache where Billy was concerned.

 

"Do we have a venue?" Brandy asked.

 

"Small pool party up north, probably outdoors. Guy's affiliated with the Metwest Club so it's a clean gig. You'll come on, do your thing, beat Tracy, and go to the pay window ­ it's all in the offer sheet."

 

"Sounds simple." Brandy took a sip and relaxed in the oversized deck chair.

 

"Travel and expenses included. Here's your reservation," Billy tossed a brochure and tickets onto the table. "Love those Metwest guys ­ all you do is show up."

 

"That's not all I do."

 

"Well, you know what I mean."

 

"Yeah. You ever see her? Tracy?"

 

"Not in action. Met her at some black tie thing. She was drunk ­ funny. A real party girl. Listen, Brandy, you worried about something?"

 

Brandy sipped her drink and smiled, "Yeah. I'm worried that I'll go up the coast this weekend, get beat up by this party girl you've never seen fight, in front of 50 faceless snobs and not be able to get past your answering service on Monday. That the answer you're looking for?"

 

"Jesus Bran."

 

"Forget it. Your cheque is in the mail Billy. Are YOU worried about something?"

 

He didn't say it. Didn't rise to her high, cool sarcasm. He even got away with a casual smile and a cheers motion to laugh it off. But he wasn't sorry when the meeting was over, and he wasn't sorry when Brandy jogged her white spandexed ass down the beach and out of view. Bitch.

 

* * * * * * * * * *

 

Pine trees around the estate, ocean in the distance ­ the house was a multiacre deal hillside with neighbours only visible if you made an effort.

 

Pool party as advertised. Guys and dolls smiling, drinking, playing. Good looking people, 20 to 40 somethings with a couple of ironsides to let you know the undercurrent was money, success - and age was no barrier to the club. Some silicon dough here definitely ­ the software guys (young) schmoozing the money guys (older). Brandy was able to warm up in the house then come on down, say, in 30? No pressure. She strutted through the little cliques on the lawn, her orange bikini conservative to most of what was on show. She could have been one of them ­ tanned, stylish, overly-fit and vaguely affluent - but she wasn't. When it came right down to it, she wasn't one of them at all.

 

She met the Man ­ air kissed his cheek, felt the cool cotton of his shirt as he bent down to offer her good luck ­ and then he was gone. If she won ­ when she won ­ she would see him again.

 

Part of the lawn was shaved to a putting green buzz, a circle running maybe 30 feet in diameter. Couples made their way to the fighting area, drinks in hand, boozy smiles ­ the women wrapping skirts around their backsides as runners took bets. Brandy let the details waft past her. They were unessential. Her senses came into sharp focus when Tracy came into view, reaching up on her toes to kiss the Man on the cheek and laughing at something witty he said. Electric blue bikini. She turned and sauntered across the grass, frankly looking Brandy over behind the rounded lenses of mirrored sunglasses ­ hair soft and pushed out of her face to shimmer golden down her back. Tracy was in her element here, comfortable, known. She was the favourite. Billy skipping over the details again to get the deal done. Brandy threw her sunglasses nonchalantly to the side and entered the close cropped circle, leaving behind her any telltale trace of mercy.

 

The Metwest was pretty specific in it's expectations. They wanted a good show, they wanted a clear winner, and they wanted no complications, which was fine with Brandy. As she cross-stepped around her opponent, she noticed Tracy jiggled as she crept ­ the belly, hips and arms had gone soft and round almost as if Hess were a body builder just getting her cardio work done in the off season. Brandy was busty and not much taller than her foe, but she was tighter, and a longer neck and waspy waist gave her the illusion of being somehow more fragile. Both girls had the deep thigh swells, muscular calves, and indented knee caps of the serious competitor, and Brandy had no doubt that the match might be decided below the waist. Despite their differences ­ Brandy the arch-browed ice queen with eyes of glass, Tracy the dance-all-night, dolphin-grin on her lips daredevil ­ the girls shared a similar fire, a competitive gene that few if any of the onlookers could sense. As the girls closed to slapping range, they reached lightly for one another's shoulders, blonde heads already damp with the searing overhead sunlight, and began to dance in earnest.

 

* * * * * * * * * * *

 

Tracy with an early take down. She was fleshy, chubby to the touch, but fast and strong, and she tackled Brandy with a muffled thump to the turf, beefy arms locked around the waist. Brandy winced, pushed at the brawny shoulders as the girls writhed on their sides. Polite applause rippled around the two as they worked economically ­ no wasted energy. Tracy's big brown eyes never left her prey's face as she gripped in silence, trying to throw one thick leg over Brandy's hip.

 

* * * * * * * * * * *

 

Brandy on her knees ­ Tracy happily controlling her with the full nelson, resting her head on Brandy's upperback and smiling occasionally to her friends. Side by side, Tracy with her weight on Brandy, just tightening and maintaining the hold. Brandy with her hands on her knees or palming the ground, waiting for the opening.

 

* * * * * * * * * * *

 

Brandy on her haunches, hands clasped tight underneath her seated foe's breasts ­ pressing, flexing. Tracy grimacing, leaning her sodden head against Brandy's shoulder. After a minute, Tracy cried out in a thin moan, her legs pushing helplessly against the turf, thighs pudging thickly against the ground. The crowd liked that, her loss of composure. One or two of the girls hooted from the audience as Brandy earned applause. She ignored it, staring flinty eyed into the distance as she bore down on Tracy's plush body.

 

* * * * * * * * * * *

 

Brandy with her weight on her haunches, cinching the side headlock on tight, resting her cheek against the top of Tracy's head. Tracy seated and taking it, eyes closed, thin lips tight in pain as she locked up Brandy's brown thigh. Shoulders worked silently, weight shifted as the girls felt each other hot through the touch. The shiny brown waists of both women: Brandy's rippling with the odd breath, Tracy's softer, belly moving in and out at regular intervals as she probed.

 

* * * * * * * * * * *

 

A sudden gamble, legs driving the girls onto their backs, and Tracy back in charge. She lay belly to belly with Brandy, legs about the L.A. girl's slender waist. Brandy struggled as Tracy worked slowly to pull her forward to her chest, finally crushing the cheek to her breast and holding Brandy fast with a tight chicken grip at the ear. Blonde bob wowed out from Tracy's wrists as Brandy's lips twisted in pain. Tracy's sturdy body bent with the force of squeezing ­ she buried her face in Brandy's hair as Carpenter let out a gasp. Once again the crowd reacted, and Tracy consolidated, letting Brandy's powerful legs churn weakly in the grass as the grip intensified.

 

* * * * * * * * * * *

 

Still on their sides, Brandy working her arms around Tracy's waist, cinching in the hug while the other blonde's legs, locked at the ankle, flexed and tightened about the sweet indentation between Brandy's hips and ribs. Tracy's long hair clumped wetly in the grass about her face as she exhaled long, deliberate breaths through her mouth. She pressed her palms against the turf in a push up posture, concentrating on her legs, and ignoring Brandy's hug as the blonde's face pressed sleepily against her stomach.

 

* * * * * * * * * * *

 

The girls inflicted slow torture upon one another's bodies, rolling in sudden starts to new positions, Brandy's arms welding against the brown striations of Tracy's hips as the blondes worked each other's midsections. But Tracy had the initiative. She could squeeze Brandy's head to take a little more out of the southern Cal girl, or rare back to put it all into those luscious legs from which Brandy couldn't escape. Brandy's face was cracking under the pressure, twisting in pain, groaning with effort. She may have looked the fitter girl, but Tracy was carrying the chub well. She wasn't tiring, at least fast enough, for Brandy to take over.

 

* * * * * * * * * * *

 

It took almost 5 minutes, but Tracy worked her arms in and under Brandy's left arm and began gently massaging, rocking, working it back. Brandy's arm finally gave way without drama, limply bending back as Tracy locked her up between the shoulder and bicep. Tracy shifted her weight, legs around Brandy's waist, to lie atop the blonde, making Brandy struggle with the heat and the weight as the left arm was secured with an arm bar. Tracy flicked the wet hair off her face and smiled patiently. Nobody could tell what Brandy was doing beneath her.

 

* * * * * * * * * * *

 

On their knees, payback. Tracy's mouth made open 'O' s and 'Ah's as she caught Brandy from behind with the hug across the belly, then the full nelson, then the sleeper choke. Brandy was trembling ­ that brown, hard body beginning to give out as Tracy's belly and backside jiggled with the effort of pouring it on. Brandy's stomach ripped into view as she was twisted from side to side, her head thrown back and drowsy in Tracy's clutches.

 

* * * * * * * * * * *

 

Humiliation. Tracy couldn't wipe the smile off her face as she reached a small, strong hand into the damp mass of Brandy's hair and lifted her groggily to her feet. Brandy barely aware, pushed this way and that by her waist or the back of her neck, thrown roughly from the shaved circle, Tracy stalking, smiling, showing her girl to the audience. Brandy choking back tears, hands at her head, stumbling as Tracy paraded her, falling as Tracy threw her to the ground. Brandy would lunge, try to snag her opponent, but Tracy was too quick, neatly catching the blonde, spinning her around in display, then dashing her to the sward. Brandy trying to crawl away, sobbing, hearing the individual voices of the crowd enjoying her destruction.

 

* * * * * * * * * * *

 

Endgame. Tracy approached her crawling foe from behind, brushing that long blonde hair out of the way, reaching down to put rough hands on Brandy's shoulders then pitching forward to the grass. Brandy slumped to her back, neck trapped between the crushing vice of Tracy's sturdy legs as the house favourite stretched out on her belly, pulling Brandy's right arm out to the side by the wrist. Tracy put her head into the turf, crowing as her legs vibrated and Brandy saw the spots immediately. Her legs quickly lost direction, slapping and flopping against the grass as her control gave out, her right hand slapping at Tracy's humming hamstring. It was over. Tracy released her with a jeer and got to her knees, looking down and shouting something at Brandy, adjusting those electric blue bottoms with a snap around slightly chunky buttocks. Brandy's hands curled helplessly at her chest as she swooned, her head lolling side to side as her knees flexed and relaxed. Above her, the pale blue sky was ringed with the points of pine trees.

 

* * * * * * * * * * *

 

"It's 500 dollars. Stomach punching gig against some gymnast."

 

"Just the stomach?"

 

"Just the stomach ­ we'll have it in writing."

 

"See what you can do about the money Dani ­ I'd hate to break a nail for less than a grand."

 

"Sure. College kids ­ somebody's daddy'll come and cover the whole thing."

 

"What about Michelle?"

 

"It's on. Just a few more deets to iron out ­ I'll fax it to you when it's ready."

 

"That's good work Danielle."

 

"Don't thank me ­ you're hot babe. Oh by the way, there's another Baywatch open call in two weeks. Some producer caught you against Tracy and was making inquiries."

 

"That's what I like to hear."

 

"Keep this up and I don't know if you'd be taking a pay cut to do network."

 

"You let me worry about that. See you tomorrow Dani."

 

"Laaaat-ah."

 

Brandy sat in her unmade bed, sloppy night shift careless about her body, cool night breeze billowing the white curtain at her window. She sipped absently at the champagne flute and tugged out her ear piece. It had been a good 6 weeks since losing to Tracy and the phone hadn't stopped ringing. Getting rid of Billy had been the best thing Brandy had ever done.

 

It had taken a while, maybe too long for Brandy to realise that Glory was expensive. She had learned it on the carpet against that big girl that losing well was just as good as winning, and took less out of her. And she was lucky ­ people liked to see her get beat ­ they'd pay to see it as long as they didn't know before hand what was going to happen. Gotta be the cheekbones.

She'd win enough to keep up her rep ­ Dani'd see to that. Dani wasn't out to kill her the way Billy had been ­ she knew the game. Maybe Brandy could have taken Tracy, kept her on her feet longer, tired that fat body out a little before going to ground ­ but that sort of thing could always wait for a more private meeting. In public, it was business, and Tracy was still selling out to win. So be it. The crowd had gotten it's money's worth, and the Man had wanted to see Michelle versus Brandy next ­ the two losers. It was almost funny.

 

Brandy stretched. It was rolling in, and the audition looked promising. She made a mental note to make reservations to take the producer out to lunch. Even a guest spot would give her star power on the circuit ­ enough to feed off of for the rest of the year. If more came of it, that was gravy.

 

There was no doubt about it. Life was good.