Short Bus Hero (21 page)

“Well, are you busy tonight? Dinner and a movie interest you at all?”

Debra nodded as Lois and Wendell burst into the sunny kitchen.

Interesting. A dumpy nurse and a broken down old wrestler.

Call it a match made in heaven.

38. Phalacrophobia /
fə-lakˈ-rə-fōˈ-bē-ə / fear of becoming bald

“N
o way, man,”
Lestat Graves says. “That sucks donkeys. They’re really hanging him out to dry like that?” He pulls off his black patent boot with a loud grunt.

Stryker has just told Graves, Raven, and a couple of the other wrestlers about Jason’s financial situation. They all agree that it does indeed suck donkey. They love Jason. As far as bosses go, the kid is the best. Not that he actually functions as the boss, but they treat him with the same respect they pay the guys who really guide their careers. He’s a nice kid, always smiling, always friendly, everyone’s biggest fan. In the few short weeks that he’s been around, they’ve become attached to the little guy.

The second time Jason made the trip down to Wheeling, the guys organized another pizza party for him in the office. He was so excited that they had gotten him his very own extra-large thin crust white pizza with pineapple and pepperoni. Of course, he was too sick to eat it, but he was still happy. He asked Ally that day to pay everyone an extra fifty dollar bonus so they could all buy the new wrestling video game that had just come out. Nice kid.

“What can we do?” Raven asks, unwinding grimy athletic tape from his wrist.

“Well, that’s what I want to talk to you guys about,” Stryker says. “How would you feel about doing a fundraiser? You know, pack the Igloo, and give all the cash to Jason’s family?”

“I’m in,” Graves says. “Too bad we can’t do it at Heinz Field. We could get way more people in there.” It hadn’t been that long ago that it would have been a miracle if they could draw enough people to fill half the Igloo. When they had a sold-out house for their debut, they all thought it had been a fluke. Before Ally took over, the crowds they drew were nowhere near that size. But, now, filling Heinz Field is a definite possibility.

No problem.

They never had a wrestling-loving angel overseeing their PR before.

So on a cold Friday night a week later, spotlights fill the sky above the Igloo. The Cool People skip their usual at-home karaoke session to play VIPs at the charity match. The media interviews every wrestler they can find. The local news even displays an address and phone number where people who couldn’t get a ticket to the sold-out match can donate to the Jason Gibson Cancer Crunch Fund.

It is a gala affair. Black tie celebrity spectators crowd into their seats beside teenage Goths and geriatric rednecks. Champagne is sipped as domestic beer is chugged. Everyone celebrates not only the life of Jason Gibson, but also the pop culture amalgamation that is their very own Vampires Night Out.

National news carries Jason’s story to a much broader and no-less enthusiastic audience. Money pours into the Cancer Crunch Fund, freeing Jason’s grateful parents from at least one devastation.

The VNO is poised to satisfy the nation’s bloodlust.

Drake Murray begins losing his hair. “Stress,” his doctor says.

Maybe, I say.

Let’s get ready to…ahem.

Ah, you know the rest.

39. Gerascophobia /
jə-rasˈ-kō-fōˈbē-ə / fear of getting old

H
ot damn,
I look fucking amazing,
Stryker thinks, shaking off his shirt in front of the locker room mirror. The workouts with the fitness guru are definitely starting to pay off. He can see his abs again, and, oh, look, triceps. Stryker thinks his arms had been starting to look like Lois’s wobbly chicken wings.

“Dude,” Raven says, coming out of the shower, wrapped in a towel. “What’s your secret, man?”

Stryker tries to keep a straight face. “What do you mean?”

“Dude, you look a lot more ripped than you did, like, a couple weeks ago. How much are you juicing?”

Stryker laughs. “The only thing I’m doing different is working out.” He flexes his biceps, holding his elbows even with his ears. Veins stand out all over his arms, his ribs pop into relief, and his six pack abs explode. “You should try it sometime,” he says, winking at Raven.

Half an hour later, Ally sneaks up behind Stryker as he struggles through his fifty-thousand-and-third pull up. “Hey!”

He drops from the bar and turns around. “Hey, yourself,” he says picking up his towel from the floor. “What’s in the bag?”

Ally holds up a small black shopping bag. “This i-is your new co-costume,” she says, smiling.

“Where’s the rest of it?” he asks, thinking it couldn’t possibly fit in such a tiny bag. She holds the bag out to him and he takes it. It’s light. He cocks an eyebrow at her, making her laugh.

He opens the bag and pulls out a shiny orange scrap of fabric. It’s a tiny pair of bikini briefs. “Okay, where
is
the rest of it? Seriously?”

Ally giggles. “There’s more in the bag.”

Stryker looks in and pulls out a jar of green make-up and some rubber fin-like things. “What the hell is this?”

“I to-told you, it’s your costume!” A few other wrestlers gather around and take a look at the items in Stryker’s hands. They exchange quizzical looks, wondering what the make-up is for. They don’t think Stryker is the kind to go for all that dress-up shit, but maybe he’s going to the VNO? “You’re going to b-be Stryker, the Dude from the Black Lagoon.” Ally claps her hands and snaps her fingers, laughing. The other wrestlers laugh, too. Until Stryker flashes them a nasty glare.

Too funny, man. I cannot wait to see the new monstrous Stryker.

40.
Gephyrophobia
/ jef′ī-rō-fōˈbē-ə / fear of crossing bridges

A
fter the fundraiser
was over and Jason’s finances had been sorted out, the time came to announce the union of Ally’s organizations. She had put the WWP on hold as she fussed over Jason and helped Stryker train. But everyone had been expecting an announcement for weeks. It was all over the news when she purchased the WWP. But what was she going to do with it? The world didn’t have to wait long to find out. A week after the fundraiser, the VNO and the WWP held a dinner and press conference to announce their intentions.

The dome arching over The Grand Hall at The Priory folds the curious buzz of conversation in on itself like a cresting wave. The crowd below is segregated into two distinct camps, much like a middle school dance; the Vampires Night Out contingent occupies one end of the hall while the employees of Wrestling for World Punishment keep to the opposite side. Formal table linens and delicate Wedgwood place settings ground the affair in conservative tradition while the wrestlers’ attire speaks more to a Hollywood premiere. VNO delegates wear heavily powdered faces with lips and eyes ringed in ebony, brocade jackets from another era, shoes with archaic jeweled buckles. WWP’ers clad their bloated bodies in spandex and sequins, just as much walking caricatures as their “undead” counterparts.

Local media types flit between groups, interviewing anyone willing to chat. Camera men set up their tripods while various grips endlessly adjust blinding lights. Sound checks are performed from the podium at the end of the hall, the lights are dimmed, and a hush rustles through the space.

Stryker, dressed in an aquamarine silk suit, steps onto the raised platform and drops a sheaf of papers onto the spot lit podium. He scans the audience and picks up on the collective anxiety and tension in the room. Ally and her family take their seats in the center of the room, oblivious to the couple hundred pairs of eyes that trail them with suspicion. The Formans are dressed conservatively, as though they are attending a church function, and no one smiles except for Ally, who always smiles at wrestling-related events and, these days, pretty much everything else. The Moravian Raven and Lestat Graves share a look of worry as Stryker begins to speak.

“Good afternoon, and welcome to this gorgeous building.” Quick, tell a joke or something, Stryker thinks. Um, I’m not good at jokes. “Stained glass, big columns covered in gold, I feel like I’m in goddamned church or something.” He smiles around the hall.

Some of the crowd utters polite chuckles while most glance around at all the other faces to see what they’re doing. No one knows why they’ve been called to this banquet hall. They’d all received a professionally engraved invitation, bidding them to “Be There or Beware” (that was Ally’s idea of a little joke; no one got it). There had been rumors of a WWC buyout, mass lay-offs, all kinds of bad stuff. Everyone is nervous as hell.

“Okay, well,” Stryker continues, “I know you’re all wondering why you’re here. Some of you look like you’re about to hurl, so let me just start by saying how wonderfully talented you all are. Let’s all give each other a hand.”

Hesitant applause echoes Stryker’s enthusiastic clapping. Sounds like a kiss-off to me.

“Oh,” he says, grasping the podium and cutting right to the heart of everything, “no one is losing their job, so you can all take the freaking worried looks off your ugly hangdog faces! You think we’d invite the media if we were doing a hatchet job?”

Real applause fills the cavernous hall, accompanied by big smiles, laughter, and a few cheers. A palpable wave of relief breaks over the tables. People sit back in their chairs, order more top-shelf drinks, and give Stryker their full attention, relaxing their bodies and minds.

“Today is an important day in wrestling history. On this day, under the generous hand of Miss Ally Forman, we unite forces. Today, The Vampires Night Out and the Wrestling for World Punishment become one single and unstoppable entity.” A huge banner unfurls from the tops of two columns behind Stryker. “Today, we become The Heavyweight Heroes of Horror.”

Everyone applauds but appears confused. Food is set before them, champagne is poured, and they remain employed. Many questions dance through their minds—who is on the A-team? Is my pay getting cut? Where’s our home gym? And, hey, am I gonna have to dress up like a fucking pansy vampire now? But, for the time being, they are thankful that they are still professional wrestlers. All their concerns will be ironed out in due time. Now is the time to party.

Stryker vacates the podium and a local heavy metal band called Invader sets up and runs through their own sound check. Their drummer? Kevin Forman.

Stryker and the other three Formans head for the bar as the rest of the crowd feasts, drinks, and, later, engage in some serious head-banging.

“So, when are you getting back into the ring?” Lois asks Stryker, sipping a neon green appletini. She’s only had a few sips and already she feels lightheaded and giddy. It’s way better than drinking Jim Beam.

“Oh, I don’t know.” He’d been waiting for someone to ask him, actually. But, now, he feels a hint of doubt about returning to that empty life. Like maybe that isn’t his place anymore.

Like maybe it’s not his calling.
“You’re to-to-totally ready,” Ally stammers with enthusiasm, spraying Stryker with sticky grenadine from her Shirley Temple. He wipes his face without even thinking about it. He’s become used to the spit showers.

“Well,” he says, “I’m waiting for just the right match, you know?” He sips his straight-up O.J. “It’s gotta be something big. No, huge. Something that will capture everyone’s attention. Something that will make me number one, make everyone remember me.” He’s not sure that’s the truth, but he thinks it’s what they want to hear. He wishes Debra would have been able to attend this function. He misses her, even though he’d just left her at home an hour ago.

Ally blurts out what they’re all thinking.

“Wouldn’t it be awesome if you could fight Gemini?”

41. Teratophobia /
ter′ă-tō-
fōˈ-bē-ə /
fear of monsters or deformed people

“H
ey, check this out,
Short Bus,” Kevin says, pulling Ally’s sleeve. Unfortunately, Drake Murray’s nickname for her had stuck. Kevin’s goggling at a pyramid of Stryker Nash dolls at the end of the boys toy aisle in Wal-Mart. They all have the trademark green sea-monster faces and orange banana hammocks that Stryker wears as his costume. At the end of the next aisle, they see something they can’t believe.

Ally Forman dolls!

Her lawyer had mentioned a surprise he’d had in the works—this must be it. Ha!

“N-no w-w-way!” Ally’s bodyguards, sporting classic badass CIA garb, scan the curious faces of middleclass shoppers on their way to grab toilet bowl cleaner and greeting cards. “Mom!”

Lois turns around and sees the hundred mini Allys with the big sunglasses and gold jumpsuits. All she can think is how all those dolls are here because of her daughter. Her special, special daughter. She really did it, she realized her own dream while helping others reach theirs. Lois has never been more proud (really, she has, but that’s just what she thinks at the moment). She grabs Ally in a big hug. Then she’s blindsided by the urge to buy every single one of the dolls, of course.

A crowd forms around them like a summer rain cloud.

Ally Forman has become a household name.

Shoppers grab dolls and clamor for her autograph.

The Heavyweight Heroes of Horror flood every consumer market faster than you can say “Strykerama.” Stores cannot keep enough lunch boxes, bedding, or t-shirts in stock. A cartoon series and video games are in the works; Ally has just inked a sweet deal with a huge toy/electronics conglomerate who wants to help her pimp out the Triple H even further. Pandemonium ensues at every meet and greet the publicists organize. Since Stryker is back on a strict training regimen, and has his own PR schedule, Ally has hired two personal bodyguards to follow her everywhere she goes, the badasses in CIA getups, because she attracts so much attention.

The entire nation is gripped by the Heroes of Horror phenomenon. People no longer have to wait for Halloween to dress up like bloody zombies or vampires. Stores stock costumes and face painting kits year round. You can go in the grocery store and see a couple of werewolves, a chainsaw-carrying serial killer, and a family of mummies. Everywhere, there’s at least one Frankenstein’s monster. And his bride.

And vampires, of course, run the streets all hours of the day and night.

Man, I wish things would have been like this when I was human.

It’s so much fun.

Not to mention Profitable—catch the capital P?

Ally makes enough money to keep the group home running until the end of the world.

And she is happy.

Not just happy, like I’m-waiting-in-line-for-the-flying-elephant-ride happy, but truly and genuinely my-dreams-have-all-come-true happy. She had never even dared to dream that she could be a player in the real world of wrestling. It all feels so surreal.

What makes her happy about the whole wrestling thing is not the money, or being on TV, or people asking for her autograph; it’s what she’s done for others.

Jason had been so excited when she first bought the VNO. The look on his face was definitely priceless. She will remember that for the rest of her life, and longer. It nearly killed her when he got mad at her over the immortality thing. She never meant for that to happen. And she wouldn’t have paid him so much if she had known about the medical insurance thing. If only he’d get better.

Okay, but back to the happiness, right?

Stryker is way more successful than he’s ever been. He’s even talking about buying a new house. He’s getting his body back in shape, he’s not drinking, and Ally suspects he’s even got something going on with Debra, the nurse. Exciting stuff.

“I hate the dolls,” he tells Ally. She’s kicking his virtual ass at Wii fishing.

“G-g-get the…the mystery fish!”

He hooks a guppy. Ha ha.

“The dolls are…are…are cool. You’ve never looked s-so good,” she says, laughing.

“Shut up,” he says, smiling, casting his virtual line.

Debra walks into the media room, carrying a small shrink-wrapped rectangle. “Hey, you two, look what I got.” She holds up the package.

“A Stryker pillow case!” Ally laughs. “Take it out.”

Stryker’s face goes red.

Debra pulls the case out of the package and unfolds it. She holds it up and studies the silkscreened image. “Hmmm…”

“That’s awesome,” Ally says. “I have to have one. Can I have that?”

Debra raises an eyebrow at Stryker. “Sorry, kid, this one is mine.” She smiles at Ally. “I’m going to go put it on my pillow right now.” She wiggles her eyebrows at Stryker and runs out of the room.

He groans and hands Ally the Wii remote, clapping her on the shoulder on his way out.

Trip out.

Ally knew she was right about those two. She smiles to herself and hooks the mystery fish.