Chapter 16

STEVE STOOD STILL, trying to pay attention to Gato but failing to understand the string of rapid Spanish erupting from his mouth. He had taken a year or two of it in high school, but the little man spoke so quickly he could only make out every fifth word.

Gato finished speaking, putting his hands on his hips and looking at Steve expectantly. The big man turned to look at Autumn standing a few feet away, awaiting her translation.

“He wants to work in a 450 off the top, since that’s his finisher. He also said…”

Autumn paused, prompting Steve to raise his brow at her.

“He also says, that if you blow it on the mike tonight he’s going to…be upset.”

Steve stroked his chin as he gazed at the mini wrestler. The little man’s fierce, defiant sneer told Steve that he had used more colorful language than Autumn indicated. Forcing himself to be calm, Steve smiled. Gato was, after all, a respected international talent, and had been in the business for over ten years. In the loose, unwritten rules of the pro wrestling locker room, that made him higher on the totem pole than Steve. The big man nodded.

“I’ll do my best, Don Gato.”

The three of them were sitting in the locker room of a small venue in Hoboken, New Jersey. It was a television taping night, and all of the WWL talent and staff were in attendance. The sounds of feet in the hallway outside the door mingled with the muffled announcer’s voice as he introduced the talent. Steve was dressed in his ring gear: a pair of tight, sparkling silver pants tucked into ostentatious furry boots. His hair had been gelled up, bright blond streaks dyed into it that he thought looked ridiculous but apparently looked good on TV. Gato was likewise dressed for the ring, in a full body black spandex suit, though his feline-themed mask was sitting on the bench next to him.

Autumn shifted from one foot to the other, trying to hide her smile. Her thigh high, shiny latex boots definitely made her appear more exotic and sexy, but the high heels were so tapered she struggled to remain erect. The boots covered more of her body than anything else she wore. A pair of shorts less modest than underwear briefs clothed her lower torso, the same shiny latex as her boots. A pair of handcuffs served as a belt, and her rhinestone studded top showed a great expanse of cleavage. The straps were designed to look like little chains, which was probably not the most comfortable sensation against her skin, but it was not as if she would wear the garment for long.

“Can you translate that?”

“I think he got the gist,” Autumn said.

“Where’d you learn to speak Spanish, anyway?”

“When I worked at the fish market that one summer. I know I’ve told you before.”

“You told me about the fish market, but you never mentioned the Spanish thing.”

“Bullshit. If you remember it so well, who was my boss?”

“A paisan with a club foot named Vinnie.”

“Half the Italians in the city are named Vinnie; that doesn’t count.”

“You called off whenever this one guy with a harelip was scheduled to work because it grossed you out to look at it.”

“Okay, maybe you were paying atten—”

Gato let loose a long stream of Spanish, using his hands to illustrate his point. Autumn paused, staring at the little man attentively and nodding.

“He says he hates to interrupt, but he wants to work in a spot where I jump on the apron and try to distract him, and he smacks me on the butt.”

“What?” Steve said, his brows coming low over his blue eyes. “Tell him no way!”

“It’s not that big a deal. I mean, it’s not like it’s going to hurt. He’s four feet tall!”

“No way. It’s bad enough you have to walk out there half naked and have all the men ogle you.”

“All right,” Autumn said with a sigh. She turned to Gato and spoke to him briefly. Gato nodded and gave Steve a slight bow of his head. He spoke to Autumn, who turned her brown eyes on Steve for the translation. “He says if you don’t want to do it, it won’t happen. He’ll just gyrate his hips at me or something…I don’t know what he said, my Spanish is a little rusty.”

“Good. Could you please tell him it’s a pleasure to be working with him, and I’ll be sure to put him over?”

“Don’t worry, gringo,” Gato said in terrible English. “I take good care of both you!”

His sinister, sly grin was lost on Autumn, but not on Steve.

A short while later, Gato headed off to prepare for his interview segment. The idea was that Gato would speak in Spanish while Oberland held the mike, and then Steve would come in and harass him for being an immigrant. Steve was not a fan of the slightly racist tone of his character, but he was playing the heel, the bad guy, while Gato was a babyface, or good guy.

He sat with Autumn, going over his lines. They were not complicated, but he felt himself tensing up at the thought of speaking on camera. Steve was skilled at executing the various holds and throws in the ring, but he was not smooth on the microphone. Autumn, on the other hand, had taken to it like a duck to water. He was more than a bit jealous of her ability to relax and get into character.

“This is hopeless. I’m not a pimp, I don’t know how they act or how they talk! I can’t just read some lines and be this character. God, I wish I was still teaching…”

“Aww.” Autumn’s eyes were soft, her lips slightly open. “Do you miss it that much?”

“Yeah, sometimes. I don’t know, this is…this is hard!”

“Sugar,” Autumn said, putting her hand on his forearm and lightly stroking the skin, “the problem is you need to relax. You’re going to talk for like three minutes, not deliver Othello’s soliloquy!”

“Hamlet. Hamlet has the most famous soliloquy.”

“Shut the fuck up, Crawley. I don’t need you to correct me. Just listen to me for a minute. If you want people to respond to you, you’re going to have to embrace your inner pimp.”

“My inner pimp?”

“Sure, you can send out your pimp vibe a lot of different ways, like the way you walk.”

She rose to her feet, affecting a strange limping gait. Her head was tilted back, and a smug smile was plastered on her painted face.

“You have to pretend like you’re the shit, and you’ve got it all figured out. You try it.”

Steve rose to his feet and tried to mimic her, but his comical efforts made Autumn laugh.

“Stop, stop,” she said, leaning on him for support. “Oh my god, that was terrible.”

“I’m trying.”

“You’re trying too hard.” Autumn pursed her ruby painted lips. A moment later, she looked up at him, her smoky eyes half lidded.

“What are you doing?” he said as she strode over to him and grabbed his crotch. “We’ve only got like five minutes, woman!”

“You need to feel like a pimp if you’re going to act like a pimp.” She slipped her hand under the elastic waist of his tights. He gasped as she seized his shaft in a tight grip, massaging the spongy flesh into hardness. His hands reached for her, but she slapped them away.

“Stop it, you’re a pimp, you don’t care about making me feel good. Just stand there and let your girl do her job.”

Steve crossed his arms over his chest, not knowing what else to do with them. It was hard not to respond to her touch, not to take her in his arms and stroke her fine black hair. He tried to do as she said, to channel his feelings of self-importance and pomposity. His body did not get the message that they only had limited time, and soon she was dragging his tights down lower. He lunged out at her, and she glanced up at him with a look that was somewhere between desire and stoic task-mindedness.

“You’re the man, baby,” she purred, her hand busily sliding over him. “You’re the man…”

Steve closed his eyes, willing himself not to release early. He opened them again when Autumn abruptly stopped.

“What are you doing?”

“Like you said, we don’t have much time,” she said, sticking her tongue out playfully.

“You can’t stop!”

“Consider it a down payment…Now get out there, Pimpmaster S, and remember, you’re the man!”

Steve walked out of the locker room, hoping no one would notice how he strained against the confines of his silver tights. Autumn walked with her arm hooked in his, heels clacking on the concrete floor. They reached the area flooded with light from numerous lamps on tripods. Gato had already begun on his interview. Steve waited for his cue, and then sauntered on camera, donning his shades first.

“Burrrrrrito,” he said, rolling his R’s like a native Spanish speaker. “Taco grrrrrande chalupa!”

“Pimpmaster S,” Oberland said, pretending to be incensed at the interruption, “what are you babbling on about?”

“I thought we were just naming things off the Taco Bell menu,” Steve said, which prompted Autumn to laugh in character.

“That’s very disrespectful,” Oberland said. “This is El Gato Magnifico’s time, so why don’t you take your floozy and get out of—”

“You’re just jealous that you can’t afford this, honey!” Autumn said, putting her hands on her hips.

“Quiet down, ho,” Steve said, not even looking at her. He squatted down and put his hands on his knees. “There ain’t no pee wee division here in the WWL, El Shrimpo, so why don’t you go hang out in front of the Home Depot with all the other illegals?”

El Gato nodded for a moment, then reached back and slapped Steve. He had been expecting it, of course, but the impact was surprisingly hard. His face snapped to the side, and a noticeable red welt was rising almost immediately.

“You little freak!” Steve said, having no trouble getting into character.

“Calm down,” Oberland said, “this is the WWL, not a knitting circle. Why don’t you two settle it in the ring?”

“Oh, we’ll settle it all right! I’m going to turn El Gato into my own personal piñata. Let’s go, Candy.”

Steve sauntered off the set, clapping a hand over his cheek as soon as he was no longer being filmed. Oberland came up behind him and slapped him on his broad shoulders.

“That was great, Steve! The way you reacted when he slapped you, I thought you were pissed for real!”

“Imagine that,” Steve said, holding a hand to his face and glaring at the little wrestler. His fierce gaze was returned spark for spark, and Gato even jabbed two fingers at his own eyes and then thrust them in Steve’s direction.

“Calm down,” Autumn said, amused by Steve’s anger. “You broke your toe last week and didn’t carry on like this.”

“My toe didn’t hurt till after the match. Getting slapped really stung! El Gato ain’t gonna play around in there.”

“Don’t play around either, then. You can work stiff, but don’t kill the little guy.”

“I’m going to be stiff all night, thanks to you. God, you’re so beautiful…”

“Don’t smudge my lipstick,” she said as he moved his face toward hers.

Steve had to admit, El Gato was a consummate professional. He didn’t miss any of his spots, was always where he needed to be in the ring, and his kicks stung but did no actual damage to Steve. The crowd seemed to enjoy the match, booing Steve viciously and cheering for the natural underdog, Gato. In a way it was one of the easiest matches he’d had to work yet, as the little man was half the size of his usual “foes.”

Not that the little wrestler wasn’t rippling with muscle. He weighed as much as a man of average height, and Steve could feel the power hidden in his tiny form when they grappled.

The time came for the match to end, and they set up the spot. El Gato, being the hero, hit his spectacular finisher, flipping in the air twice before crashing down on Steve. The Mexican went for the pin, but Autumn took her cue and climbed onto the apron. She swiveled her hips seductively at the little man, who quit trying to “win” the match and walked toward her. Steve rolled onto his side, pretending to be in pain but actually moving so he could watch for his own cue.

Autumn turned about and shook her latex clad bottom at Gato, which whipped the men in the crowd into a frenzy. Steve’s jaw dropped as El Gato reached out and slapped Autumn across both shapely cheeks. It was not a gentle slap, and her buttocks danced for a full second after the impact. Autumn’s mouth flew open, and she spun around, hand on her bottom.

El Gato was not done. Going further off script, he climbed under the middle rope and stood next to her on the apron. Without preamble he wrapped his arms and legs around her shiny black boot and ground his crotch against it, like an amorous dog.

Steve was on his feet and charging at the little man, his face a mask of rage. El Gato let go and put his hands on the middle rope, setting himself up for a spot where the midget would ram his head into Steve’s belly. The big man allowed it to happen, though he was furious at the mini wrestler.

El Gato sprang up to the top rope, showing considerable agility, and dove onto Steve’s now prone form. Steve suddenly rose to his feet and caught Gato, then put him on his shoulders and performed his finisher: a Death Valley Driver, just like his father’s. He was careful not to put the little man on his head or neck, but he put as much impact into the move as if he were in the ring with a full-sized man. Gato did not seem to mind, and allowed Steve to lie across his diminutive form and get the “victory.”

A chorus of boos greeted him, which felt the same as cheers to a babyface. He grinned, soaking it up. Even though Gato had gone off script, the match had apparently been entertaining enough. Autumn got into the ring and leaned against him, thrusting her hips out and standing seductively.

“Great job, sugar. I mean, my ass is sore, but it was worth it.”

“I’ll kill him.”

She patted his toned belly and laughed.