Memories

by Belial

"Good to see you again Will," Julie smiled, touched my arm in that cool way she has. The road trip had been her idea: Julie liked to get out of the MetWest Club building now and again. Keeps the scene fresh. She had really taken over around here, as if there had ever been any real doubt that she would.

"You know me," I said, "I'm a sucker for a good comeback."

Julie grinned mischievously, "She's looking good. You won't be disappointed. We've missed you, you know, you should come out more often."

"I know. Work. Life." I lied. I kept up my dues at the club, but I hadn't even been in for a drink, let alone a fight night in ages. It just wasn't the same without Janice. But now, Janice was back. Call me curious.

Julie touched my sleeve again, "Don't be a stranger," she winked, and was gone through the crowd.

I had no idea how they had set this up. 1:30 in the blessed AM, about 30 well heeled regulars standing in a plus 15 overlooking the approach to a fashionable downtown market and shopping complex. We could walk all the way to the Hyatt without ever touching street level, and we could see the towers of the hotel, the domes and bright colours of the market about a block and half south. An asymetrical office lay empty, enclosed in glass floor length panels and doors, with windows on the far side overlooking the street, grey-blue carpeting, and two white, square pillars breaking up the emptiness. The place looked like it would eventually be a dentist's office, or a prescription eye-glass shop. Tonight, it would be a miniature gladiatorium. It was funny ­ those of us who took an interest in this pastime could always see the potential of a room or a space. Julie in particular had a wonderful eye for this sort of thing.

Angie was already in the room, hands on hips, brawny, eyes twinkling as she grinned and chatted with her supporters. I could see why Julie was high on the Starbucks waitress: 5'4", broad shouldered, square hipped, curly brown hair up and back for the festivities. The thick shoulders and biceps were set off perfectly by a black, polo collar sport top, the horsey ride of her buttocks and powerful flanks likewise ideally framed in sporty scoop bottoms ­ horizontally striped with green and black bars. I had no doubt that Julie had dressed the girl, accentuating the exuberant, youthful athleticism with rough and tumble beachwear. You could tell this was a girl patrons would go out of their way to buy a 3 dollar latte from: large, hazel eyes, arching brows, playful, heartshaped face. Angie was going to be as big as she wanted to be at the club.

Then Janice entered the room, strutting through the glass doors, and I strained to get a better look. She had to be 34, 35 at this point, hair dyed a brassy gold, with messy forelocks and a long, low ponytail. She was heavy with curves, bigger breasted than Angie, softer in the paunch, but I could tell she had worked hard to get herself back into fighting shape. At 5'3" she too had the broad shoulders and thick fast-twitch muscle, and if you liked dramatic, almost comic-book thigh swells drawn back into tiny, knock-kneed joints, then swelling out the other side into bowling pin calves, well then you would appreciate Janice the way I always had. Even in her youth, she had been powerless to stop the jiggle as she walked, parts of her body would simply never yield to road work. She was dating herself with her battle dress ­ old style terrycloth Adidas track trunks that swaddled her full rump like a pale blue diaper, and a white sports bra, u-backed to present her broad, tanned back. As she paced, I got a good look at her too-cute face, the expressive dark eyes, the outrageous cheek bones, but also the slight double chin under her pointed dimple. Partly the architecture of her face, partly the way things were going to be from now on. All told, there was a lot of strength in that room tonight, a lot of power. I couldn't remember Janice ever losing that kind of competition.

The room was cleared, leaving the girls to circle and eye each other. No signal was given. When it was time, both women knew.

The lock up was crisp, professional, girls tugging each other's heads in close, looking to pull one another forward off balance. Jan showed she hadn't lost any quickness, roughly twisting Angie into a firm side headlock, pumping her up with a sexy grind as the first ripples of applause peeled through the hallway this side of the glass. Angie rode her left around Jannice's waist, patiently wrapping up that belly, trying to keep her balance as Janice slowly stepped her around. This was what I had always remembered: Jan taking charge, working in quick bursts to get control, then methodically breaking her girl down over the long haul.

Janice grabbed a wrist at her gut and suddenly twisted Angie out into a standing wristlock. Nice. Angie slapped at her shoulder, lips pursed in pain as Janice kept turning her midroom, keeping the brunette's feet moving. Jan tugged up and slammed in a rough arm bar, going right after the brunette's beefy bicep. All of a sudden, it all came back to me: Janice vs Michelle ­ the first match I had ever been invited to as a paid up member.

Like Angie, Michelle had been an athletic brunette, fresh off the UCLA gymnastics squad and looking to make a name for herself. Back then Jan had been harder, practically a rock at 120 and those two worked each other like blacksmiths, just hammering on the hurt. No question Michelle was the better athlete, and she would win specific competitions like arm wrestling, but put her in a room freestyle with Jan and the pretty jock just couldn't hold her ground. "You break a gymnast down in the shoulders," Janice used to say, "then she's yours for the night."

Angie wasn't a gymnast as a far as I knew and despite her youth, she knew a fair amount about stand up counter-wrestling. The girls swapped armbars, taking turns tugging each other up onto tippy toes, working one another's curvy arms without mercy. The early momentum for Janice had broken up into a tit for tat tactical struggle, with both girls concentrating on the other's limbs, stretching and straining the bulky upper arms with practiced, deliberate execution. Janice was the vocal one in there ­ punctuating her successes with bright "YEAH"s, her sudden reversals with shouts of indignation. Angie hissed through pursed lips, eyes alight with concentration. In many respects, she reminded me of the Janice of 10 years ago ­ that same combination of strength and femininity, the same joy in competition. I assumed that the similarity was no accident. This was of course, Julie's show tonight.

As Angie swung Janice into a standing full nelson, stretching the blonde's ribcage back, grinning over Jan's left shoulder, I flashed on another classic rivalry: Jan and Johanne. Jo had been the classic underachiever ­ never the strongest girl, never the fittest, never the prettiest, but she was a heady, calculating wrestler who often gave Jan some problematic outings. Johanne was famous for clamping on a leg stretch or a nelson and just riding it. She didn't give in ­ like a great control pitcher just nibbling at the outside corner all night. The style used to drive Janice crazy and many times her mistakes had nearly cost her against Johanne's precise approach. In the end however, Janice had had too much fire for a girl like Johanne. Jo knew when to quit, and Janice didn't ­ simple as that.

Angie was getting greedy, showboating, and I smiled to see her fall into an old temptation to which many before had succumbed. She wrapped Janice under the breasts from behind and heaved up hard with the bearhug. It was strong, Janice groaned and tossed her head back over Angie's shoulder as the brunette hoisted her up off the ground, but nobody ever made Janice quit in the body. Angie grinned, face glistening with exertion, loving the pump she was getting on Jan and feeling the good work punishing the blonde. Janice couldn't keep her feet, her terrycloth butt spooning into the meat of Angie's belly as the brunette jerked and arched, keeping the blonde's legs churning impotently off the carpet. Showy. Impressive. Stupid. After a few moments, Angie started to blow and heaved Jan's deadweight off to one side, spilling the blonde to her hands and knees. The brunette strutted the carpet, hands on hips, chest heaving as she blew curly locks out of her eyes. Janice glared, got off the carpet and got right back into it. Neither girl had any intention of being the matador tonight.

Janice trapped Angie belly to belly and paid the brunette back in kind. Blonde arched her back to pull brunette breathless off her feet as Angie's hands wrapped helplessly around Jan's shoulders, her torso clamped tight to Janice's heaving stomach and chest. Angie's head rocked back as she got ragdolled, eyes shut, brows arched high, mouth pouted open in shock. She probably hadn't felt this kind of power around her lower back before. Your first time in with Jan was often a wake up call. I almost felt sorry for the kid, but then again, this is what I was here for.

I looked around the room, saw some old faces. There was Jill, with whom Janice had had some monster strength contests. I was surprised to see the swaggering brunette back at a club function; I had assumed Julie had run her out of town long ago. Michelle was here, still fit as a greyhound, probably just as curious as I to see what Jan had left. And Stacy ­ good lord, Stacy! The nastiest piece of work we had ever allowed onto the carpet at the club. I remembered her blatant pearl harbouring of Janice in their first match that wound up in a DQ. The fines and suspensions. Stacy was one girl who hadn't fallen into the trap of taking it to Janice's body, not when you could scissor up a girl's head and pull her hair with both your fists, or torture her mouth with cruel fingers. But even Stacy hadn't gotten it done. Janice had worked them all over one by one, and it hadn't mattered what curves they had thrown at her.

The match was getting groggy, both girls fighting stubbornly, trading bearhugs as butts began to wobble, legs began to stagger. Both girls knew how to take rest breaks in there, clinching up like boxers, walking each other back to the walls or pillars. Neither wasted strength any longer: they had both made their points. Now they tried to sense openings through body contact, feeling for weakness, feigning weakness. Both girls were adept at steering one another with a fistful of waistband, or a little push behind an elbow. All part of the dance as each hoped to score with the decisive hug.

Janice was looking for the quit in Angie's eyes, but she wasn't finding it. The brunette just kept coming back, going at that ribcage, hoisting Janice high, crushing her breath out in forced, moist whines. Jan was definitely falling off the pace, unable to keep the agile brunette from getting behind her and working unopposed. Jan began to walk away ­ actually walk away from her opponent ­ buttocks jiggling crankily in their cloth sack, hand at her head as she tried to clear her senses. Angie patiently stalked her down, wrapping her up, punishing her some more. I still felt like it had to be a mistake to go at Jan's body, but Angie was having more success than I could recall anyone ever having. After a while, the brunette was starting to have fun, resting on Janice as she cinched her up from the side, pressing the blonde against the glass near us, or against the far wall. Always keeping her body on Janice, making her feel the weight. Jan needed to make an adjustment. I just hoped her pride wouldn't stop her from doing so.

It didn't. Jan finally took this fight to the ground and things changed in a hurry. Where Angie had been a little too quick on her feet, Janice was a little too strong on the carpet, and as effective as Angie had been with her arms, Janice was even more devastating with her legs. Oh what those legs had done to some of the women in this room! I could see the intense focus on Michelle's face as she recalled the ache of her own ribcage. The resignation on Johanne's face as she started to write Angie off. Now it was Janice's turn to get happy, work her girl, lay it in strong. Now I remembered why I paid the club fees year after year, and why it was worth every penny.

Janice clamped down on Angie's waist from behind, glorying as the brunette sobbed aloud, pressing helplessly on the thighs as she sat in the middle of the room. Janice clamped down on the belly from the side, raising herself up off her stomach onto her palms, biting her lower lip as she poured it on: Angie on her back, chin tilted up in agony ­ fists beating tepidly against the blonde's humming hamstring. Janice shifted to rest on her elbows, still bisecting her girl across the midriff, sometimes cuddling Angie close, sometimes pulling on the right arm, just using the brunette up with beefy, constant pressure.

Time was, Janice could go on all night like this. Sooner or later, your body gave out before her legs did. That's what was supposed to happen. But Angie had never seen Janice fight in her prime and obviously didn't know the rules.

Right there on the carpet, Angie began to work her way to her haunches, reach around Janice's hips as the blonde lay on her back to grind Angie's waist, and counter the scissor with a desperate hug. Angie's head lay sweaty upon Janice's trembling stomach ­ the blonde's lips pulling back from her teeth as she felt the brunette's strength. Janice began to pound down upon Angie's shoulders and back like an exhausted child in the final throes of temper, and the weakness of the blows gave Angie strength. Right there on the carpet, Angie started to turn things around. After a while, she was grinning again, her left cheek pressed wet against Janice's stomach so we could see her hard working features. Jan pressed down on Angie's shoulders, face tightly clenched. There was no memory for this sight, no way to categorize it. Janice was being worn out as Angie caught her second wind.

Angie went to work on Janice's legs, just as she had begun the match on the blonde's arms, rolling Jan onto her stomach, pulling hard on the cross over toe, her shiny back slick against Janice's. There was that awful patience, that Johanne-like quality of just riding a girl down, not playing to the crowd. In stages, Angie moved to put her knee in Jan's back and pulled her into a painful arch with a rough arm around the throat. Janice gurgled in pain, palms flat against the carpet as Angie worked her back. Angie got on top, sitting in the small of Janice's back and put that bicep to choking work on the blonde. Jan on her elbows, face pinched, struggling for breath. Her right hand gripped pathetically up at Angie's bulging right shoulder as Angie rocked gently, just pouring it on. When Angie bulled Janice onto her back, the blonde was horrifyingly compliant. It was sickening to see, although if I were honest with myself, how many times had I witnessed Jan putting it to some hapless other in just this same way in the past? 

Angie indulged herself with a cradle series that went on far, far too long. She would work up close around Jan's face, crouching in from the side and almost cheek to cheek with her foe as she cinched up the blonde's ballistic right leg. Angie would occasionally put her back on Jan's belly and wrap her up classic, lips straining to pour on the hurt as Jan began to blubber uncharacteristically. Angie would get back to the side, lock the cradle in, then scissor up Jan's far leg. I had never seen Jan so ineffectual, so pathetic in her little, hopeless movements. Angie soaked her up, tireless, resting her cheek on Janice's chest.

I looked over at Julie. She held a brandy snifter in both hands, up to her smiling mouth as she gazed hungrily at the action. She was pulling the strings on this thing, loving it too much. I remembered why I had stopped coming to the club, pretty much the same time that Julie had stopped being just another wrestler and had become instead something of a puppet master. I wondered what Janice had done to deserve Julie's attention. I wondered why Janice had come out of retirement in the first place. I wondered if Julie had anything on her, or if it was just a case of glory days gone wrong. Then I looked back at the match and couldn't believe what I was seeing.

Angie had pulled a broken Janice to her feet and lovingly racked her up across her right shoulder, bending the blonde's back and sending moans of despair around the glass enclosure. Angie staggered under the deadweight, the muscles of her quads and knee bulging into relief as she adjusted her balance. Janice draped limp and stunned, face purpling as she twitched until her grinning tormentress set her down almost gently. And still it was not over. Angie slowly wrapped her hand in Janice's ponytail and pulled the girl to her feet, calmly wrenched her back into the full nelson, and waddled her to the glass, there to press the blonde face first, up close and personal with the crowd. They roared in approval as Janice's sleepy cheek distorted against the glass, her flattened breasts leaving a greasy trail as Angie pressed and rubbed her up. Angie never stopped smiling, even as Janice's shuddering body signalled it's involuntary surrender. Julie laughed aloud, eyes bright as a ferret's. And then, the brunette simply tossed the blonde away, turning her from the glass and flinging her to the carpet. Janice rolled to her back, groaning mindlessly, hugging at her ribs, rocking onto her side to clutch at her kidneys, shielding her tears from the well dressed mob on the proper side of the glass.

I swallowed hard. I felt old, seeing Janice lying there, trembling in defeat. I felt old watching the Starbucks waitress strut it up in the room, taking the time to grin down at her conquest, hands on hips, looking like she just might flop back down and help herself to some more blonde. I couldn't recall the girls of Janice's era indulging themselves this way: it looked cheap, and mean to me.

When Angie finally made her exit, she was surrounded in a sea of hugs, stocky little body shaken by congratulatory pats on the back, getting her kiss on the cheek from an approving Julie. Janice stiffly sat up, both hands at her lower back, tears still flowing freely as she deliberately kept her attention focused in the room, not wanting to see Angie's celebration.

I hadn't seen Julie sidle up to me. Those hard blue eyes didn't miss much, I knew she could see right through to what I was feeling. "Wasn't that fabulous?" she said, right to my face.

"Um. Well, not what I was expecting exactly."

"She'll be fine," Julie purred, "She's rusty. She'll be back. In fact, she'll be back next month."

I double clutched on that. Janice had gotten to her feet and was stiffly, sullenly walking it off, hands still at her back as she arched and rolled her head. "What are you talking about?" I said. This thing had been a swan song if I had ever seen one.

"You've heard of Keiko? Our Asian hostess from Clyde's new Sushi restaurant? She's dying to try on the legend for size. It's a good test for her."

I had heard of Keiko. Another 21, 22 year old. Broad shouldered. Strong, strong limbs and Beyonce Knowles hair. The hazy edges of Julie's intentions were slowly coming into focus. I couldn't say anything. Julie touched my arm. "See you then," she said.

I don't know how she had done it, what lever Julie had used to coax Janice back into the game, but it was clear that the idea was to tarnish Jan's gaudy legacy somewhat. I could see it now: night after heartbreaking night, Janice pitted against younger, stronger girls, when fair fights could be made, but wouldn't be. Eventually, Julie would take a hand herself, give Janice the coup de grace, finally erasing the name and image of greatness from our memories. Already, I was having trouble picturing those giddy moments of triumph Janice had fashioned so many times in the past, replaced by the sight of her gingerly stepping around the harsh glass room, clutching at the body that had finally known submission.

And I'd be there of course. I'd follow Janice all the way down. Julie needed me to see it as much as she needed Janice to suffer through it. You had to hand it to Julie, much as most of us despised her. She has a great eye for these kinds of things.