“You did?”
“It was on TV. We were watching the pay-per-view backstage at the Staples Center. Next thing we know, TJ's picking a fight with Tanner. The boys thought it was hilarious that a jobber like TJ would challenge a legit tough guy to a fight.”
“Well, TJ's pretty tough, too, isn't he?” Jesse asked, thinking back to his conversation with the guys. “I mean, just because he's booked as a jobber doesn't mean he can't fight, right?”
“I honestly don't know how tough he is,” Jesse's father said. “TJ claims to have gotten involved in a number of shoot fights when he wrestled in the indies, but the boys think it's just a lot of talk. They give him a hard time backstage, partly because of his age, but also because of his arrogance. TJ acts as if he's on the same level as the veterans, which they resent.” Jesse's father took another swipe at his forehead with the towel. “Did I tell you about what happened when TJ was bragging about his work in the indies? Bronko Savage got so fed up with him that he grabbed TJ's gear and threw it out of the locker room. Bronko told TJ that he hadn't earned the right to dress with the boys, so TJ had to get ready for his match in the hallway. He wasn't even allowed to take a shower afterwards.”
A look of consternation filled Jesse's face. TJ hadn't mentioned anything about his relationship with the boys. Jesse assumed that he got along with everyone.
“I took TJ under my wing because I remember the days when I started out, and I didn't have anyone to guide me. Pro wrestling may be entertainment, but it's still a brutal business to work in.”
Jesse's grandmother entered the dining room and told them to wash their hands because lunch was almost ready.
Jesse and his father made their way back to the bathroom. “Anyway, Frank loved the free publicity the ACW got from the altercation,” Jesse's father said. “Especially because a clip of it was shown on ESPN. What made it even more significant was that Tanner knocked out Rankin, one of the UFC's best fighters. Now, Frank's hoping to capitalize on the incident by setting up a match between TJ and Judson Tanner at a future pay-per-view.”
“Really?” Jesse couldn't believe TJ was about to receive a pushâa huge oneâin a pay-per-view match, no less. He grabbed the soap bar from the dish and washed his hands.
Jesse's father took another look at his reflection. “TJ must've been born under a lucky star,” he said. “He's only been with the company a short time, but already, he's about to move up the ACW ladder.” He paused. “I hope that doesn't cause problems for him. Some of the boys who have been with the company a lot longer than TJ might not be too happy about it.”
Jesse moved away from the sink, leaving the water running for his father. While he dried his hands, he asked, “So what if the boys don't like it, Dad? I mean, you're always talking about how wrestlers have to do something to stand out, to get noticed, if they want to make it in the business.”
Jesse's father held his head under the faucet with the water running. “Get me the shampoo from the shower, would you?”
Jesse opened the shower door, grabbed the shampoo bottle from the caddy and handed it to him.
His father squirted shampoo on his head and lathered his hair. “Don't misunderstand me, champ. I want TJ to succeed in the ACW. It's just that he needs to tone down his attitude a notch or two. He needs to work a little harder at endearing himself with the boys.”
Why did TJ need to do that? To Jesse it sounded as if some of the boys were jealous of him. Maybe what they really didn't like was that TJ was twenty-two years old, and many of the boys, including Bronko Savage, were approaching middle age. Maybe they considered TJ a threat, someone who might one day take their spot. The way Jesse saw it, TJ was the future of the company, and those old guys, even his father, were part of the past.
“What about Jacob Sloane, Dad?” Jesse asked. “You said that most of the boys don't like him. But nobody throws his clothes out of the locker room, do they? Nobody makes Sloane get dressed in the hallway.”
Jesse's father dried his hair with his towel. “The difference, champ, is that Sloane sells tickets. And plenty of merchandise. Yeah, he's a jerk, but the fans love him. They buy into his baby face persona. Sloane may not be the most popular guy in the locker room, but he makes a lot of money for the company, which translates into more money for the boys.”
They made their way back to the dining room. Iced tea glasses had been placed on the table. From the kitchen, Jesse could hear his grandparents singing “Victory in Jesus.”
“Look, champ, I don't mind that you went out to eat with TJ the other night, or that he took you to the UFC matches,” Jesse's father said. “But I want you to be careful around him. TJ's got a bit of a wild streak. He's been on his own for a while, and he pretty much lives his life the way he wants.”
Jesse was getting sick of listening to his father bad-mouthing his friend. “Dad, TJ's a grown man. Shouldn't he be able to live his life the way he wants?”
“Of course he's a grown man. But that's just it, champ. You're only fifteen . . . ”
“Sixteen,” Jesse corrected him. “I'll be turning seventeen in December.”
His father's eyelids batted self-consciously. Trying not to act rattled over having forgotten how old his son was, he took a sip of his iced tea. “Still, TJ's a lot older than you are. You're probably better off spending time with kids your age. Do you understand what I'm saying?”
“Dad, TJ and I didn't do anything wrong,” Jesse said. “He just took me out to eat Friday night and to watch the fights yesterday, that's all.” Jesse didn't mention that TJ had gotten kicked out of the Alamodome or what they did afterwards.
When they left the arena, Jesse and TJ stopped to pick up burgers at a Jack in the Box. Then they drove on Highway 90 because TJ wanted to show Jesse the Dominguez State Jail. On an access road near the jail, TJ spotted a DO NOT PICK UP HITCHHIKERS sign. He thought the sign would look great in his apartment, so he decided to pull it up and take it. Jesse and TJ got out of the car and rocked the sign post back and forth until they were able to loosen the concrete base from the ground. They yanked the sign out and heaved it into the back seat of TJ's car. Once they got to the apartment, TJ washed the sign in the bathtub and stood it in his dining room, next to his drums.
“As for the age difference, Dad,” Jesse continued, “you're way older than TJ, but you still hang out with him, don't you?”
Jesse's father furrowed his brows. “Just be careful with him, champ. You hear?”
Jesse gave him a silent stare. Then he drank his tea without making further comments.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
W
ednesday morning, Jesse received a text from TJ inviting him to a Halloween party Saturday night at the Brookstone Apartments clubhouse. He also invited Jesse to work out with him at the gym after school.
Jesse wanted to go, but he had football practice, and practice wouldn't end until five-thirty. After that, he would have to go home for supper. As soon as he finished eating, his grandmother was going to take him driving. He didn't have any free time.
Unless he skipped football practice.
Jesse didn't think Coach Blaylock would notice if he didn't show up. Their last game was against the Burnet Dragons, the only team standing between the Sidewinders and the district championship. More than likely, Coach Blaylock would be focused on his starting players, not on the benchwarmers.
Jesse answered TJ and told him to pick him up in front of his school at two-twenty.
At lunchtime, he explained to the guys why he wouldn't be at practice.
“What is it with you and The Jobber?” Goose asked. He winked at Wendell and Bucky. “Is he your special BFF?”
“Watch yourself, Goose,” Jesse warned. “You're starting to walk on dangerous grounds.”
Wendell looked up from his plate of baked chicken and mixed vegetables he had brought from home. “You know, Jesse, technically, you're still in school, even when you go to practice. So if you take off with TJ Masters, you'll be skipping school. You know that, don't you?”
Jesse glared at him. “What do you care, man? Are you going to snitch me out to Coach Blaylock?”
Wendell flinched. “No, Jesse. It's just that I don't want you to get in trouble.”
“I'm not going to get in trouble,” Jesse said. “Unless you snitch me out. Besides, I'll still be exercising, except that I'll be getting trained by a guy who's an expert. And we'll be using real equipment instead of that outdated junk in the field house.”
Goose looked distracted. He gazed across the cafeteria and raised a hand.
“Who are you waving at?” Wendell asked.
“I don't know. Some chick over there's waving at us. You guys know who she is?”
Jesse turned around. “Yeah. That's Wally Morúa.”
“No, man,” Goose said, frowning. “Not the dude with the San Antonio Spurs jersey. The bald chick behind him.”
“That's her name. Wally Morúa.”
“Are you kidding me?” Goose said. “What kind of parents would name their daughter Wally?”
“Maybe they got the idea from that singer who wrote a song about a boy named Sue,” Wendell joked.
Jesse explained to the guys about Wally and Duck.
“Hey, if you want another dog, I know a guy who breeds pit bulls,” Goose said. “I can get you one, if you'd like.”
“I don't think so,” Jesse said. “If I was to get a pit bull, it would probably eat my grandparents' dog, Pollo, for lunch and their cat, Gremlin, for dessert.” He watched Wally and some other girls get up from their table to dump their trash.
Goose noticed Jesse staring at Wally. “Hey, if you're interested in that bald chick, maybe you can bring her to my party.”
“What party?” Jesse asked.
Goose slurped the last of his milk. “Come on, Jesse. We talked about it. I'm having a Halloween party at my house Saturday night. Everybody's gonna be there. Bucky's even bringing Shrek along.”
“Man, stop calling Melissa Dugan Shrek,” Bucky griped.
“Sorry, Goose,” Jesse said. “I can't make it.”
“Why not?”
“TJ's already invited me to a party at his apartment clubhouse Saturday night.”
Goose rolled his eyes. “So you're telling me you'd rather go to The Jobber's party than mine?”
Jesse stood and grabbed his lunch tray. “Yeah, that's exactly what I'm telling you. Later, guys.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A
fter Spanish class, Jesse rushed out of the building. TJ was waiting for him in front of the school.
“Before we go to the gym, we need to make a stop at the store,” TJ said. “Have you got any money on you?”
Jesse checked his w
allet. “Thirty-two bucks. Why?”
“'Cause I'm gonna help you buy everything you'll need to build your muscles.”
TJ drove to the Rivercenter Mall. The place was busier than Jesse had expected for a Wednesday afternoon. He figured that most of the shoppers were tourists who were going inside the mall after having visited the Alamo or taken a stroll down the Riverwalk. Jesse and TJ walked past department stores, kiosks and souvenir shops. When they neared the food court, an old woman sitting at a table with her husband flagged them down.
“Excuse me, young man,” she said to TJ. “Don't you wrestle on
Monday Night Mayhem
?”
TJ smiled. “Yes, ma'am, I do. I'm TJ Masters.”
The old woman elbowed her husband. “See, Hutch? I told you it was him.”
The man bobbed his head with his mouth open, but he didn't say anything.
“I've seen you on TV,” the woman said. “It's too bad you don't win very much,” she added with concern.
TJ winked at Jesse. “I know, ma'am. They put me up against some real mean wrestlers. But I'll do my best to win next week.” TJ was speaking in kayfabe, pretending that pro wrestling is real. “This is Jesse Baron,” TJ told the couple. “His father is Mark Baron, the Angel of Death.”
“Oh, dear,” the woman said. “I hope you're not anything like your father. I don't know why he wears that ugly make-up and those awful clothes. I'm sorry, young man, but the Angel of Death just gives me the willies.”
“He sure is scary, isn't he, ma'am?” TJ said. “But don't you worry. Jesse's not anything like his father.” He winked at Jesse again.
The woman handed TJ a napkin. “Could I please have your autograph, Mr. Masters?”
“You bet. Have you got a pen?”
The woman pulled a pen from her husband's shirt pocket. The man didn't react. He just kept bobbing his head.
TJ leaned on the table and autographed the napkin.
“You sign it, too,” the woman told Jesse. “I know you're not a wrestler, but your father is.”