Written for OLWG #45
Geronimo Green adjusted his leotard singlet, stared at his reflection in the mirror, and silently cursed his manager, Murray, for arranging this fight. Not only had Murray agreed to this fight, he had been the one to toss out the initial challenge. Not only had Murray antagonized Sally, but he had issued the challenge in such a way that she could not refuse. Almost immediately; her manager had picked up the gauntlet – it was on.
“Battle of the Sexes” was the billing; it was like that Billie Jean King tennis match against Bobby Riggs back in the day. Sally Higgins was a small girl who wore her hair in blonde cornrows. She was from some small beach town in Florida. She wrestled as ‘The Butcheress of Belarus’. Everyone knew that she had never been to Belarus, and the word in the business was that she had been the Prom Queen at whatever High School she had gone to in that stupid little Florida backwater. She had come a long way – from debutante to butcheress.
She was a fierce wrestler though, who showed no mercy to her opponents. She never talked to anyone either. If an interviewer or sports caster asked questions; she would only grunt, with an affected Eastern European accent, turn on her heels and stalk away. She was beautiful even though she carried a perpetual scowl whenever she was in public. Truth be told; Geronimo wasn’t sure that he could beat her and, it worried him. The stakes were high.
When the door crashed open Geronimo looked up and it was Murray. He had an armful of fight posters and, as always, he was on the phone, “Alright, baby. Yeah, yeah – I’m with him right now…” Murray looked up at Greene and winked, as he listened on the phone, “Ok, look that was never my intention. Uh huh – yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, I gotta go. Love ya, man.” He lowered his phone, studied the screen and then pushed a button with his thumb and terminated the call.
He stared at the telephone for a few seconds, tossed the posters in the corner, then looked back up at his fighter, Geronimo Greene, “’Mo, baby,” he said smiling and throwing a few punches at no one – shadow boxing, “Big night, eh? Big night for you Geronimo.”
“I guess so, Murray. I’m not looking forward to it though.”
“’Mo, listen,” Murray reached back and flipped the deadbolt on the dressing room door before coming over to where the fighter sat with his hands on his knees. “I need to talk to you about tonight, Champ.”
“Jesus, Murray don’t call me that. I’m not the Champ and if I don’t beat Sally tonight I never will be. Tell me again why I’m doing this.”
“You’re doing this for me, ‘Mo. That’s what I need to talk with you about.” Murray’s whole tone had changed. He was serious; he was not the ‘happy-go-lucky’ wrestling manager and promoter that he normally portrayed. “I need you to lay down in the third.”
“’Mo, you know I wouldn’t ask for this in a million years.”
“Yet, here you are asking, Murray,” Geronimo was pissed off, “what nerve, man. I trusted you. How can you ask me to take a dive? You of all people!”
“I’m sorry man; I got in deep with some guys. I owe ‘em. I owe ‘em a bundle. If you don’t do this they’ll kill me.”
Geronimo sat up straighter and studied his long time friend and manager. Murray outweighed him by at least fifty pounds, but he was slow and out of shape. Geronimo Greene didn’t even need to look for an opening; this wasn’t the ring and Murray had his hands open and spread wide as he pled with the fighter. Without a second thought Geronimo landed a deft uppercut with his left hand that rattled the trainer from head to toe. Murray collapsed onto the cold concrete floor.
Greene climbed down from the bench, shook his left hand, and pulled Murray across the floor, positioning him so that he was seated with his back against the wall. He unlocked the door, grabbed his robe from the hook and pushed out into the passageway. As he neared the entrance to the arena he heard his name called out by the referee over the public address system, “Geronimooo Greeeeene!” The crowd got loud as he stepped out where they could see him. Glancing towards the ring he saw The Butcheress of Belarus leaning against the ropes in her corner. She was leering at him as he made his way down to the mat.
This week, the prompts were:
- at least fifty pounds
- never my intention
- Geronimo Greene
Don’t think! Write!
You have 25 minutes but if it takes longer – just don’t tell anyone.