To The Stars - 1. December, 2017

"Good luck baby," Rachel grinned, kissing him on the cheek for luck. "Don't hurt him too bad!"

Standing by the entrance curtain in the production area, it was hard to hear her over the deafening noise of Sean Fox's entrance music and the enthusiastic roar of the Boston crowd. Must be nice, he thought bitterly. No mob has ever cheered for me like that and I've been here for seven years longer than Fox has.

"I'll be the one getting hurt, remember," he reminded her curtly, a frown on his brown face. "The New Year Pay Per View and I'm going out on... my eighth or ninth loss in a row?"

"So what? You made it onto the card," she reminded him, fishing her phone out of her pocket. She was glued to that stupid device. "Some of us get to sit back here and watch you on the monitor instead. Plus, win or lose, he's the one going through the table tonight."

He sighed and kissed her cheek, playing with the drawstrings on his sleeveless jacket - yellow and green to represent the Brazilian flag. He saw Sean had finished his entrance on the monitor above, and a couple of seconds later, his theme played out. Helicopter by Bloc Party - it had been his music for a very long time now. He took a breath and stepped through the curtain, putting on his mean face. It wasn't very difficult for him. He was angry. Disappointed. Let down. The most prestigious event of the year, and once again Diego was sent out here to make someone else look good while the main event match was going to someone completely new to the industry. What a joke. Sean Fox, known on screen as Waya, the plucky Cherokee underdog, waited for him in the ring. At least this will put Sean into the main event picture, Diego thought. A victory on a grand stage like this one against a veteran like Diego would skyrocket his stock, and little Fox was a very impressive wrestler.

"Introducing his opponent," Sherrie announced in her beautiful, evocative voice, standing next to Sean in the arena. Luckily his music was so loud because the reaction from the crowd was minimal. He had fans and haters like anyone else. They were just... not as vocal. Not as many. They didn't seem interested in him much anymore. "From Tulsa, Oklahoma, weighing in at two hundred and twenty-six pounds, Diego Silva!" There was a little rumbling from the crowd, a little booing, so it wasn't totally dead, he noticed as he slowly and menacingly trudged down the entrance ramp. Most eyes were still on Sean though, bouncing on the bottom rope, still wearing his traditional Cherokee headdress. He saw the look of pity on the boy's face, and he felt resentful. Don't waste your energy feeling sorry for me, Fox. Focus on not making us look bad by screwing our match up!

Nobody nearby even tried to communicate with him as he approached the ring. He was a heel. They were supposed to hate him. That included talking trash to him. Hating on him. The fans did not bother. Instead, he realised, they just didn't care. They only wanted to see Sean win. They had little interest in seeing Diego lose. Rachel, on the other hand, was a terrific heel, even if her wrestling wasn't totally solid. The crowds even tended to chant "trash whore" when she riled them up. Why can't I do that? Fifteen minutes, give or take, that was what they'd been told. Usually, there would be a few spots they'd be instructed to act out during the match, but tonight they'd been given a lot of freedom. Just make it good, Michelle ordered. The men decided that Diego would dominate most of the fight until Sean won in a surprise upset, putting him over as the tenacious underdog. Diego Silva would attack him after the match and throw him through the announce table. That was going to be fun, at least.

"The winner of this match will be awarded an opportunity at the Heavyweight Championship!" Sherrie signaled for the bell and slithered out underneath the bottom rope. Yeah, nice, Diego thought privately as he warmed up in the ring. Instead of one of us facing Big Bad Jimmy for the Championship, they've got us in this pointless contender match and that Lovecraft freak has his first match with the company in the main event. Stupid!

Sean had his back turned, putting his traditional headdress down in the corner, and that was the signal for Diego to begin his attack early before the bell while his opponent wasn't ready. A common heel tactic. There were a few gasps and cries from the children in the front row, but everybody had been expecting it, he knew. Sean wasn't completely solid on in-ring psychology yet. When to counter, when to play to the crowd, that sort of thing. Timing. But he sold Diego's offense beautifully and he was very dynamic and innovate. He was a reliable opponent and Diego trusted him completely. After a few minutes, he decided to lock in a rest hold - putting Sean in a submission for a little while, giving both of them a chance to breath.

"Can you yell at me?" Sean whispered, soft enough for only the referee and Diego to hear him, feebly struggling in the seated sleeper hold. "Embarrass me, c'mon! Get rough!"

Diego did not appreciate being told how to wrestle by someone who was still in many aspects considered new to the company. However, he was painfully aware that he wasn't a charismatic person. It was his biggest weakness - the one that was holding his career back. He swallowed his ire and followed the younger man's instructions, swinging him around in his arms, eliciting cries of pain from the little man.

"Piece of cake!" He yelled in Sean's ear. Sean began struggling to his feet, Diego releasing his grip a little so that they could move back to some action. "This is Diego's day! I'm going to face Jimmy Vause! I'm going to be the champion! You can't beat me, Waya!"

He felt like an idiot saying that. Talking trash always felt so... inorganic. Besides, Sean had defeated him a few times now, as recently as last week in a tag-team match. Diego hadn't actually won a bout since September, taking pinfalls and submitting to a cornucopia of opponents left, right and center - Sean most prominently. It didn't make sense to him. He was booked to be a dominant, scary bad guy. How could he viably portray himself that way if he never won any matches? Sean stood up, hitting his elbow to Diego's muscular abs, and Diego, determined to get a reaction, any reaction, hooked his fingers in the boy's long, dark brown ponytail and slammed him down to the mat on the back of his head. The crowd didn't like it. They were getting tired of Diego being in the spotlight. Well, tough, he thought. You're not supposed to like it. As Diego hooked Sean's leg, the boy whispered into his ear.

"I need to come back," he violently kicked out of the pin attempt, making an effort to look dazed and pained. He probably was in pain - he fell pretty hard on the canvas underneath them. There were no hard feelings in wrestling, though. Diego knew that. He'd been hogging the offence more than he had been supposed to. To give Sean believable time to shake the cobwebs out, he did a lap around the ring, taunting the crowd, gloating about his imminent victory. "We're going to lose them."

"Nobody wants to see you!" A young woman yelled at him, there with her boyfriend in the second row. "Just finish already!"

He didn't respond to her. It was highly improper to break character, but he badly wanted to tell her to hang herself. The words hurt. They distracted him long enough that he wasn't ready for Sean's attempt to roll him up into a quick pin, and he stumbled, falling on him instead. Thinking quick, pretending he'd been ready, he turned it into a pin on Sean instead, which the other man quickly got out of. Get your head in the goddamn game, he told himself. Sean looked annoyed as well - miscommunications during a match weren't fun for either party - but it seemed to do the trick. He came at Diego like a bat out of hell, and the crowd ate up every minute of it. Sean was becoming increasingly popular since his recent push, and they wanted him to win. The match hadn't gone on long enough yet, so when Sean looked set to win and dove off the top rope in a gorgeous, clean Moonsault - a three-quarter backflip - Diego quickly rolled out of the way.

Sean hit the canvas hard and the crowd was disappointed that the match wasn't finished yet. They started to chant. "You can't wrestle!" Diego knew they were trying to mock him. I can wrestle, he thought. I'm one of the best in the the world. It's the other side of the job I'm bad at. He blocked them from his working memory and came after Sean, ready to put him in a world of pain, but Sean had been playing possum and grabbed Diego when he got close, rolling him down into a pin.

"Don't kick, we're losing them," Sean whispered.

Diego knew it was true. Dragging the match out any longer would not make it better received. Even though they were short of their alotted time and Diego wanted to showcase more of what he could do, he did as Sean wished and let the boy win. When the referee counted three, the crowd erupted in support for the lovable little fellow. It wasn't difficult at all for Diego to act as though he was angry and disappointed by the abrupt defeat. Sean ate up the cheers and love he was getting, and it almost felt terrific to grab him and toss him out of the ring. The crowd almost seemed to heave a groan of melancholy, realising the segment was still not yet over. Yelling at both the masses and Sean about cheating him of his opportunities - something that ran very close to Diego's heart, he then picked Sean up, carried him the short distance around the ring post and slammed him directly through the commentary table. It got a reaction, but nothing compared to what he'd been hoping for. It was a big spot, and the fans were lukewarm at best. Story of my freaking life! Sean sold it like a champion, a professional at taking big bumps. Diego did not act like a professional, though. Rather than making the most of the small amount of heat he garnered, he walked right back up the entrance ramp and behind the curtain. He'd had enough.

"Tough crowd!" Rachel frowned, the first one to greet him. "Great match!"

"It was a joke," Diego panted, exhausted from the effort he'd wasted trying to get the audience to give a damn about him. He wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Fox did a great job, though. He's very over with the fans. I hope he wins the Championship one day soon. It'll be in good hands."

"You were a bit rough with him," Rachel chastised, grabbing him by the hand and leading him away from the curtain, past Pearl, who was getting ready to go out and cut a promo to the audience next. "Rougher than you needed to be. Using the hair? Come on Diego. It's not Sean's fault you've been jobbing lately."

"Was I? I didn't notice," Diego did notice, but he wasn't trying to be malicious. He wasn't angry at Sean; he was trying to get the crowd to care. An exercise in futility, he thought. Diego Silva had bounced between babyface - the "hero" - and heel - "the villain" - many times in management's attempts to get him over with the audience, but nothing seemed to work. Still, seeing himself becoming a jobber - someone who frequently loses matches to make their opponents look strong - was upsetting. That would never succeed in endearing him to the crowds, and it felt bad to know that Michelle was starting to give up on him.

"Yeah, you better apologise to him before Ollie finds you," she snickered, walking her tired boyfriend to the catering area. "He'll kick your ass if Sean tells him to. He wasn't happy with the hair pulling."

"I suppose he's the only one allowed to pull Sean's hair," Diego quipped with a cheeky smile. Rachel giggled, but she flashed him that look. That 'don't make fun of the gay guys' look she often shot him when he made fun of them.

"Jesus Di, lighten up, would you?" She asked, thumbing through her smartphone. "You're not on camera now. You don't have to keep acting like a heel. You're miserable."

"I am pretty miserable," Diego whined. He wiped his sweaty face with an even sweatier arm. "I'm getting tired of putting everyone over and not being appreciated for it."

"Sean probably appreciates it," Rachel pointed out coolly, and she turned her head. "Here he comes! Go and be nice to him."

With a sigh, Diego did as he was told. He usually did. Rachel wasn't someone who knew how to lose an argument, and more often than not he didn't have the fortitude to stick it out. Still, he didn't have interest in talking too much to the gay guys. They were always touching each other and kissing in public and Diego just didn't like to see that.

"Sean, buddy," Diego raised his hand up above his head. Sean had to jump up high to be able to give him the high five in response. He was a cute looking kid, Diego thought. He was covered in traditional body paint like he always was if he was wrestling at one of the four major annual events - streaks of red on his warm brown skin, and he was in his synthetic tan leggings and traditional moccasins. He looked incredibly fierce, a significant departure from the tame, docile Sean Fox behind the scenes.

"That crowd was terrible," Sean frowned, walking past. Diego followed him reluctantly. They had a decent enough working relationship and terrific chemistry in the ring, but they were not friends. Aside from his girlfriend and two of the oldest wrestlers in KADA's locker room, Jimmy Vause and Gloria Droese, he did not associate with his coworkers often. He had three young children to worry about.

"How's your back?" Diego asked, keeping up with the surprisingly long strides of the cruiserweight. Sean stood five feet and seven inches tall on a good day, but he was a very fast walker. He did everything fast. He was all over the place in the ring. Diego sometimes struggled to keep up.

"Have a look for yourself," Sean laughed, wincing as he gently pushed in the base of his spine. "You did too good a job on me, I think. Still hurts a bit."

"And I'm sorry about the hair thing," Diego added, putting a hand on Sean's shoulder and getting him to pause.

"Why?" Sean seemed eager to leave him, but turned and faced Diego to be polite. "I mean it hurt, but it was the only time those mutes paid attention. Boston sucks. I hate wrestling here."

"So we're good?" Diego wanted to make sure. The last thing anyone wanted in a stressful environment like the KADA Wrestling locker room was bad blood.

"Yeah, of course!" Sean laughed it off, brushing Diego's hand off him. "I didn't appreciate you landing right on my crotch during the schoolboy, but that stuff happens. I know you have my back and I have yours. Is something up? Everything okay? Did the crowd get to you?"

"Just the jobber blues, I suppose," Diego said, nervous about how much he wanted to say. "You and I getting some half-assed number one contender's match while that Lovecraft douchebag is supposed to be main eventing."

"Oh, don't even get me started!" Sean grimaced and discreetly looked around to see who might be listening. "I've seen a meth addict trying to do the Tango with more skill than Lovecraft can wrestle a match! It's like watching a drunk toddler."

Diego laughed at the pictures Sean was putting in his head. "Jimmy's got his work cut out for him tonight. He's not going to be happy. We better clear the locker room and just head off home before their match is over or we'll get in the firing line."

"We should probably stick around, actually. Jimmy can't kill Lance if there are witnesses," Sean grinned, turning around to respond to someone touching him on the shoulder. Oliver Vickery was a big man with a narrow face, a shaved head and incredibly dark brown skin, a real manly guy - the last person Diego might expect to be so openly gay. He and the Native American boy had been together for two years. A motley pair they were. Diego couldn't help but screw up his nose a little when they greeted each other with a tender kiss on the lips.

"Great match, baby! My man's gonna be champ!" Ollie, in spite of his debilitating knee injury, put his hand on Sean's hips and gyrated, forcing him to dance with him. Sean giggled shyly, breaking away. Diego wasn't fond of their public displays of affection. Sure, the gay thing make him uncomfortable, but it was the closeness they had. Diego held his tongue. They already knew how he felt about them. They didn't care as long as he kept his mouth closed. "You too, man!" Ollie extended his fist towards Diego, who bumped with his own. "You guys do great together. You know that?" He was being a little generous, Diego thought. Sure, they'd had some four and five-star bouts in the past. Tonight's match was good, but it wasn't terrific. He would have changed a hundred things if he had the chance.

"Well, I'll get him next time," Diego joked, wanting to leave the conversation and return to pouting with Rachel. "You don't slam a guy through a table without him coming back for more."

"Hey man, if my baby's got a bruise, I'll be the one coming after you," Ollie's black eyes twinkled and his lips curled into a cheerful grin. Sean smacked him on the chest, pretending to be offended.

"The hell you will! Until you get cleared, you're going to sit down and let me take care of everything!" Sean scolded him, pointing down at the big man's knee brace and the crutch he walked on. "It's lucky my push came when it did!"

"At least you earned your push," Diego broke in before they could get carried away with their banter. "You're one of the best and safest workers we have. Lance Lovecraft has wrestled, what, twenty matches in his entire life? Thirty at a pinch? None of them televised. How does he main event the biggest pay-per-view event of the year?"

"Friends in high places," Sean shrugged, turning back to face him with Ollie's arm around him, gently stroking his chest. Ugh. Get a room.

"Yeah man, it's cooked," Ollie shook his head. "Gotta be five, six viable contenders that could have brought the house down tonight, both of you included. Guess it's who you know, not what you know."

"Should I complain to Michelle?" Diego asked, averting his gaze from the affectionate pair in front of him. While nobody had made a complaint or issue about Sean and Ollie touching each other so much, neither was anyone pleased to see it. It was a good thing they were both popular in the locker room because anyone else would probably be socially lynched for being so indiscreet.

"What about? Lance?" Sean asked, and Ollie shook his head.

"Nah, about the jobbing, I bet. Do it. Better you than some kid who jumps from reality shows into the lion's den and thinks he can wrestle," the big man reasoned, and Diego nodded.

"Yeah, I'll go and see her now. This is all so insulting to everyone. I'll see you guys next week," Diego decided to leave. There was very little to talk about with them. Funny, polite and easy-going the pair of them, but they couldn't even be near each other without touching and cuddling and... ahh, it was just getting under his skin. Maybe he could pretend Sean was a girl. That's probably what Ollie did. It wouldn't be so difficult. Sean had prettier hair and a cuter face than most of the girls around the place, and he was limber, lithe and had a bubble butt on him.

"Hey Di, we're heading to a bar soon, have some drinks and probably watch Seano dance the night away, you wanna tag along?" Ollie offered. Sean giggled and gave a happy thumbs up to indicate he was okay with this. That surprised him. Rachel and Gloria were friends with Sean and Oliver, but Diego kept them at arm's length.

"No thanks boys, you kids have fun. I'm probably going to chill out with the girl," Diego was polite and smiled, but he wasn't close enough to them to even think about that. Besides, they were already handsy at work. He could only imagine what he'd have to see them doing in the freedom of a bar, juiced up on alcohol and music. "I'll probably enjoy watching Lance screw Jimmy's career on the monitor."

He waved his goodbyes, and as if to teach Diego not to bitch about people behind their backs, Lance Lovecraft's theme hit the arena. It was a very catchy, fruity tune that didn't belong in professional wrestling, particularly for a male. It sounded like something from a teenage rave or a drag show. He sat back with Rachel, who barely seemed to notice him returning to her side. Who is she texting, anyway? Probably having an affair. Meh. Maybe she's messing around with Jimmy or Giorgio or something.

"Jimmy looks so pissed," Gloria laughed, standing nearby and watching the monitor. "This is going to be such a hot mess. I don't know what 'Chelle was thinking." Gloria was the matriarch of the locker room. Twelve long years she'd been wrestling with the company, and she was approaching her fortieth birthday. She was stronger than all the other women and likely half the men, too.

"It's probably not her choice," Rachel replied, shaking her head. "She's smarter than this. Maybe it's about the money. Everyone's going to tune in to watch Lance Lovecraft strip down to his shorts and get manhandled by Jimmy. It's pretty much just softcore porn at this point."

Lance looked incredible, Diego had to admit. He had a taste for elaborate and flashy wrestling attire, and peacock feathers inspired this one. He was green, blue, orange and purple, wearing an expensive cloak with faux feathers poking up from the neckline. His skin was fake-tanned a golden brown, and he'd dyed his hair a vivid red colour. He was having a terrific time as he pranced and danced to the beat of his music down the entrance ramp, engaging with nearly every fan who reached out to him. Diego had heard of Lance Lovecraft before he signed with KADA. Everybody had. He was a big time reality star in England, a professional dancer, model and gay icon. Good for him. This is not the industry for someone like him.

"This guy?" Diego pointed out, raising his hand in disbelief. "This loser is supposed to be a threat to Jimmy? A kid who has never wrestled a match on TV before shows up looking like a freaking sissy! It's moronic!"

"Yes babe, we know," Rachel nodded. "I don't want to be rude, but it's all you've talked about since the match was announced last month."

"I'm gonna go find Michelle," Diego announced, aware that he was bringing down the mood. Rachel and Gloria, good friends, were looking to laugh and have fun, no doubt. I'm glad it's so funny to them, he thought angrily as he stormed through the hallway towards Michelle's office. It's not their careers that are being put on hold for the sake of this Lovecraft idiot. Silver spoon in his privileged mouth. To hell with that. He knocked on her door, and he heard her muffled reply.

"Pfft. C'min!"

He opened up and she looked as though she'd taken a monstrously large bite out of a tiny apple, at least a third of it. She was trying to chew, her eyes bugging. Lance Lovecraft was on the monitor, cutting a promo about being true to yourself and following your dreams. How cheap. How cheesy. The crowd was eating right out of his hand, too. That explained a lot. That crowd wouldn't know talent if it bent them over and made sweet love to them, so it made sense they'd go manic for some celebrity gay boy.

"Jeevuv," she remarked, finally working her way through and swallowing. "You always pick the worst moment to come and bug me. At least this time I didn't fart the second before you opened the door."

Diego laughed heartily. He'd forgotten about that. She was a unique woman. "I don't think either of us needs to go through that again."

"What's up, Silva?" She asked him, leaning against her desk. She didn't seem to enjoy sitting behind it; instead, she spent most of her time on her feet. Kept her joints from seizing up, she said. "You did a great a job tonight. You have a problem?"

"Jobber blues," he summed up quickly, and she nodded her head.

"I figured as much," her eyes kept flickering to the screen. The match had begun, but it hadn't started yet. The camera was very kind to Lovecraft, but he could see at an instant that he was absolutely terrified. He knew he was in way over his head. Good. Maybe he'll learn ruin his reputation and he'll get lost.

"What's the deal, 'Chelle?" He leaned next to her, bracing himself on the desk. "You know I'm happy to put Fox over, but what's going on? I've won a single match in the last six months - I only beat Chandler in September by default. Am I in trouble or something?"

"You know I won't BS you," Michelle didn't look at him while he was speaking, but he knew she wasn't intentionally rude. She was the general manager, in charge of many things in KADA Wrestling, and if an event as big as this one went tits up, it would be her that got the kick in the bum. "I think you need to take a back seat for a little bit. We've been trying to get you over for a long time and it's just not working. You tend to suck up crowd energy, like a black hole. I don't know what it is about you."

"Ouch," Diego muttered, and she nudged him.

"I don't BS, Silva," she said gruffly. "That crowd was electric for Sean. Then you came out and they didn't even want to know you. This is a real problem for us. Not just you, but for me. We've been working together for ten years. You know I've got your back, but pals or not, KADA is a business."

"So what do you want me to do?" Diego shrugged bitterly.

"Do you want to hear the whole truth?" Michelle asked him, finally breaking her eyes from the monitor to look at him. She looked older than her fifty-one years. Fit and active, a former wrestler herself, but years of smoking and alcohol abuse had drained the colour from her face and given her severe wrinkles.

"Well, it doesn't sound like I'm gonna like it, but go ahead," Diego bit his lip nervously. Michelle didn't like to beat around the bush. She shot unpleasant facts and opinions at people with a crossbow. It was a good thing more often than not. To know where you stood with someone was a great thing, and Michelle never failed to shoot straight. If she was dancing around the issue, it was because she didn't want to talk about it. She would, though - eventually.

"Margaret Bloom wants to release you from your contract," she said frankly, not even blinking. "She doesn't think you're good for business."

"Seriously?" Diego burst out, upset and worried at the sudden revelation. "You're going to fire me?"

"Hey, don't be a drama queen. Bloom and Jerry have been throwing that idea around for a while, but I think you're a good investment and as GM, I have a lot of pull. Your skills are solid, Silva. Absolutely one of our best. Nobody's saying otherwise. You've had some of the most terrific showings out of anyone here and you're a reliable, safe worker. Everyone wants to work with you, but you know, this trouble you have getting over with the audience is a real problem. So while his wife wants to give you the pink slip, I convinced Jerry that we owe it to you to give you more time. We're not going to fire you, not without really giving it one more go, but until then the show needs to go on. I know being a full-time jobber makes those ass cheeks clench, but the show isn't just about you. You make these sorry sons of bitches look like a million bucks when you put them over. Your job is safe until we work out what we're going to do with you, but until then you're just going to have to suck it up."

"Yeah, I guess," Diego mumbled, throwing himself into another sulk. "Thanks for not just tossing me out on the street, I guess."

"Woman up," Michelle elbowed him in the chest. "There's no crying in professional wrestling. I don't see you or your family complaining on pay-day."

"Anything else I should know about?" Diego asked her, walking back towards the doorway.

"Yeah. This isn't what I wanted. This Lovecraft character on my show tonight? No bloody chance. Look at this! It's a bloody mess!" She pointed angrily at the monitor and sighed. "The kid is scared of his own shadow. He can't take bumps, he doesn't know what he's doing, and I don't think he'd be able to sell a bottle of water to some bastard on fire."

"So why did you book him then?" Diego laughed at her indiscretion. "Jimmy won't forgive you for this. He's picky about his opponents."

"Vause? Hmph. He will if he wants to keep getting paid," she grumbled. "I know you think I'm some dictator who always gets her way, but I have a boss too. I don't want the whole locker room thinking I didn't argue about this til I was blue in the face. Margaret bloody Bloom wouldn't drop the idea, and you know how the trophy wife always gets what she wants. She has the dollar signs in her eyes because Lovecraft is some celebrity twit."

Diego paused to watch with her. She was right, of course. Lovecraft was not doing well. The audience was painfully aware they were watching a scripted sequence right now. Lovecraft's offence was passable - he was an athlete, after all. Incredibly fit and graceful on his feet, but most of that was because Jimmy Vause was the best wrestler in the entire industry and he sold it cleanly every time. However, when Jimmy got to be the man controlling the match, the diva went to jelly and all the poise was gone. He was scared, inexperienced and weak, and it was showing. He hesitated, forgot to sell, mistimed everything. The bewildered, furious look on big Jimmy's face said it all. He wasn't enjoying this. He was angry. Fair enough. Nobody will ever let him forget this match - fans, coworkers and management alike. Lovecraft was in for it after this. Nobody make a fool of the locker room leader and got away with it.

"He won't be getting another title match for a long time," Michelle reassured him. "Or any matches. Look, he's a nice enough kid, but we're a wrestling company, not Dancing With The Stars. You know, Marg floated the idea of letting Lovecraft win tonight, but I told her that everyone in the locker room would take a walk if he did."

"You're not wrong. Everyone already hates his guts," Diego remarked as he left. He didn't want to see the rest of this. The whole thing was a farce and it was insulting to every man in the locker room who worked their asses off for opportunities. Years and decades of training, discipline and dedication, and the most prestigious spot on the biggest KADA show of the year went to Lance Lovecraft. It was unbelievable. "Thanks for hearing me out, 'Chelle. I won't bug you again."

"Yeah yeah, shut the door," she instructed him, and he did just that.

"Heyyy gorgeous!" Gloria greeted him with a wink when he returned to their table. There was a small group of them now, all either laughing or grumbling at Lance's pathetic display. He leaned down behind Rachel and kissed her on the top of the head.

"If that's not Diego, it better be Ollie," she warned him, looking up and grinning at him when she saw it was her boyfriend. "How'd your chat with 'Chelle go?"

"I'm probably going to get fired," Diego summed up flatly. Gloria turned to look at him in shock. "Yeah. I can't pull in the crowd, so I'm a waste of money. We're looking to Lance to show us how to wrestle now. Can you believe that?"

"Babe, that's messed up," Rachel scoffed.

"I doubt you'll get fired," Gloria reassured him. "You're a solid wrestler with a clean record. If we lose people like you, injuries are going to happen a lot and that's going to bankrupt the Blooms."

"Yeah, well, I think I've had enough of this place for one day," Diego grumbled. "I'm heading home. You wanna come with, Rach?"

"I might come by later on," she shrugged. "I'm going to have a few drinks with the girls."

Yeah, she's having an affair, he decided. He didn't mind. Having the bed to himself sounded terrific right now. "Have a great night, everybody," he waved at them and abandoned the monitor. One more look at Jimmy and Lance tripping over each other would likely make him vomit. He took his time in the locker room shower and getting himself dressed in a warm, snug t-shirt, a hooded pullover and loose jeans. Winter wasn't much fun in Massachusetts. He missed the heat of Fortaleza in eastern Brazil where he grew up. America got so cold. He picked up his travel back and was about to exit, when Jimmy came storming through.

"Woah Jimmy, man, are you alright?" Diego frowned. Jimmy was a veteran and took his job very seriously, being in the main event of KADA Wrestling's weekly show for nearly two solid years, but the two of them got along well. Jimmy was a man's man - a very masculine fellow. Six foot nine and over three-hundred and twenty pounds of solid muscle.

"I don't think I should speak to you right now, Di," Jimmy replied curtly, his voice shaking with fury as he punched the tiles with his fist. "That was probably the worst twenty minutes of my life."

"Yeah, no worries," Diego waved him off. "Text me later, yeah?"

On his way to the exit, Diego saw the red hair and extravagant ring attire in the distance and rolled his eyes. As he approached, he saw the tears streaming down Lance's feminine face, trailing black mascara down his cheeks. Truthfully, he looked like Harley Quinn after a three-day bender. Mascara? What kind of guy wears mascara? Is he for real? And red contact lenses, too. This is KADA, not a drag club.

"There's no crying in wrestling," Diego snapped at the younger boy as he made his way past. Lance sniffed.

"Diego Silva..." Lance recognised him on sight and covered his mouth with his hands. He wiped his face, but it only smeared the makeup more and Diego laughed derisively at him. Stop being such a frickin sissy, Diego wanted to shout. He comes to our division without knowing how to wrestle and has the nerve to accept a main event singles match? Now he's crying? What a pathetic, useless piece of human garbage. He'll quit before long - guaranteed.

"Yeah, what of it?" Diego turned and frowned. He didn't want to speak with this guy, but even more, he didn't want to be seen speaking with him. A month ago when the match was announced, Jimmy Vause declared that Lance be "sent to Coventry" the moment he accepted a main event match that he did not earn. To disrespect the wrestling way of life like that was unacceptable. This meant that nobody was supposed to speak to Lance at all, unless it was imperative to the business. He was on his own. It was the ultimate test of fortitude designed to break the spirit and force the victim from the locker room. Seeing Lance breaking down on his very first day reassured Diego that he'll be gone soon. Very soon.

"I... I'm... ahh--" Lance stammered.

"Ergh," Diego waved him off and walked past, but Lance caught his attention again.

"Michelle wants to see you before you go!" Lance called out, and Diego halted. He turned back around, but he did not look at Lovecraft on his way past. To hell with that. Lance got the message and miserably began trudging back to the locker room. Maybe he hoped to avoid Jimmy and his wrath. Unwritten locker room code designated the Heavyweight Champion as the locker room leader, so Jimmy's word was law. The same went for the women. Irina Sokolov, as Women's Champion, called the shots for the women's division - even though Gloria maintained a permanent position of respect and influence.

"Silva, glad I got you before you made it out," Michelle was livid, going to far as to smoke inside the building. She could probably lose her job over something like that. Diego was wondering what must have happened in the ring while he was in the shower. It must have been a real screwup for Michelle and Jimmy to be this furious. "I'm not going to dignify that BS main event by speaking about it. Do you remember when I said we'll try one more time to get you over? Well, you're in luck. Marg's got an idea, and I'm happy to see it through."

"Yeah?" Diego was happy to hear that, but his gut told him that he shouldn't be feeling that way.

"You're bad with the crowd. That's not me being rude, that's just facts," Michelle dragged her cigarette and exhaled away from him. He could still smell it though. "Marg is fanatic about this Lovecraft guy, and she's determined to keep him on TV. On the other hand, I'm determined to keep him as far away from in-ring competition as I can. We came up with an agreement. Are you ready for this?"

Oh no, Diego thought. This isn't going where I think it's going, is it?

"You're gonna wrestle, and Lovecraft is going to be your on-screen manager," Michelle confirmed his fears. "He's useless as a competitor, but like it or not, he has a huge fanbase. He's been succeeding in entertainment since he was in puberty. So happy new year, Silva. You have yourself a valet. He's going to cut promos on your behalf and stay ringside when you compete. He's going to do what you can't, and that's rile up the crowd for you. I need you and him to meet me before the show starts next Friday and we'll discuss it some more."

"What the hell, Michelle?" Diego asked her, dread festering inside him. "Are you trying to ruin me? That's the worst idea I've ever heard! He just made a mockery of our whole industry out there, and you want to stick me with him? That'll be the last nail in my coffin! Everyone in the locker room will have it out for me and nobody in the community will take me seriously if I'm even seen with this guy. I know I have problems, but surely I don't deserve THIS!"

"I told you to woman up. I'm the one in charge and you answer to me, not the other way round! You're a great wrestler, but those brain-dead mutts don't give a damn about what a good wrestler is anymore. It's about the show. That's why I've decided to put the two of you together. That way he's good for something and Marg isn't breathing down my neck. You never know, Silva. He might be a good influence on you. I don't need to remind you that this is the last chance you're getting, Silva. Lance is a lovable son a bitch, even if he couldn't wrestle his way out of a wet paper bag. Between the two of you, we might be able to make one solid performer. So grow some ovaries. You have a week to make your decision. Either you turn up and shake Lovecraft's hand, or you can hand in your resignation. It's as simple as that."

Thanks to everyone who read! You guys rock!
EDIT: Following the finale, I decided to clean some of the early chapters up.