Negotiations

This little offering, continuting with Sue Graham, is the first of
two interludes, then things get to some serious fights.  Hope you
like it. Comments, as always, are welcome. - Bomur

Negotiations
============

    My jaw still aches.  I must remember to see my masseuse
tomorrow, since I doubt I'm going to be able to see her tonight.
Maybe I'd better check in with my doctor, too,  because it's always
wise to do that after a match, just to be on the safe side.  I
remember the look Doc. Latimer gave me when I told him what I'd
been up to the first time I went to him after a match.   He almost
blurted out  'That was YOU last night??!'.  He didn't, but it was
written all over his face.  The League cover most (though not all)
of the medical bills of all of its girls.  Well, it's only fair,
isn't it?  So it makes sense that they encourage girls to use
certain doctors who just happen to be major punters.  Business can
be wonderfully symmetrical sometimes.

    I wonder where that crawler Lewis is.  True, it's a little
later than when he wanted to see me, but I'm sure he's still
around.  Still, this hospitality lounge isn't too bad for sitting
around and waiting.  There's even a miniature waterfall contraption
in the corner to look at. Nice.  I sip a little of my diet bitter
lemon and look around some more.  Not a soul in sight.  Even
the barman has drifted off somewhere.  Obviously, there's
another match on.  Jungle Bunny and me were certainly not the only
ones on tonight.
The League likes to give its paying clientele a full evening's
entertainment.

    I suppose I shouldn't have kept Lewis waiting, but I didn't
want to talk to him wearing jeans and T-shirt, and the wrestling
kit was out of the question.  So I rushed back to my hotel and
changed into the prim navy blue business suit I always keep handy.
I think I went through three red lights getting back here.  Hahaha.
 Red lights on the brain.  Red is supposed to mean danger, but to
me it means victory!  Freud would have a cow.

    I hear a door.  I look round and see Lewis at the far end of
the lounge, walking towards me.  I get up and walk towards him.

    He's talking to someone I don't recognise.  I catch his eye and
he finishes his low-key conversation quickly, then comes to meet
me.  I take a deep breath and hope it doesn't show.  Lewis can make
me feel apprehensive at times, even when the poor sod is trying to
be nice to me. Besides, he has this roving eye that makes my skin
crawl.

    "Susan."  He looks slightly disappointed.  Good.

    "Mr. Lewis.  You wanted to see me?"  I put a little note of
obedience in there. It all helps.  If he's got bad news he'd enjoy
dumping on me if I'm surly.  Added to which, he's partially
responsible for me getting paid.

    "Yes.  Good match.  Another win. Well done."  His eyes are
flat, like those of a snake.  His words sound almost, but not
quite, like he doesn't mean them.

    "Thank you."  I look down demurely.  All right so far, woman,
but don't overdo it, he'll think you're taking the piss.

    He looks around.  "Well, let's go to my office.  There's
something I need to discuss with you."  He turns and walks away,
without looking back to see if I'm starting to follow. Damn, I
might as well forget the drink. If he wants me in his office, it
must be something big.  I begin to follow him, wondering how to
deal with it.

    The woman who taught me to wrestle was called Silver Sharon.
She could whip me any day of the week, in a ring, on the mat, any
damn place you could name.  She could probably whip most of the
girls in the League, as well.  But she had no ambition.  No drive.
I sometimes wonder, if she did, she'd probably be running this
place, and hold the championship belt as well.  Unfortunately,
she's probably stuck in the same hole she was in the last time I
saw her.

    Apart from her wrestling skill, or rather running in tandem
with it,  was her uncanny knack of dealing with adverse situations.
 It sounds a bit mawkish, I know, but it's the only way I can think
of to describe it. She rarely got into trouble, and could easily
sidestep it if she did.  She told me it had to do with her
worldview (I didn't understand what the hell she was talking about
when she told me,  and even now I've only got a tenuous grasp on
it), and that everyone had to find their own method of dealing with
things.  Something about the "best fit" principle.

    Anyway, after a long talk, she told me that the method of
dealing with things that would work best for me was to think of
things in terms of a match.  I'm me, and everything and everyone
else is my opponent.  From there, it's simply a case of finding the
winning hold, or submitting if I'm being hurt too bad.  It works
surprisingly well.  I've added a few modifications along the way,
but the method I use now is still pretty much the one she sketched
out for me all those years ago sitting on her mat.

    As we reach Lewis's office he opens the door and waves me
through.  I walk briskly through, stop at his desk and turn.
Although I see him close the door, in my mind's eye I see him
standing in boxer shorts on the mat. His shorts have got little
pink hearts on.  I try not to smile.

    "Susan, I'll be brief."  He has a distinctly clinical sound to
his voice, detached, as though he's made this particularly nasty
speech many times before. On the mat, he advances, looking
menacing.  I prepare myself for his assault.

    "Despite your good record with the League (you've very rarely
lost),  many of our clients find you somewhat unexciting to watch
in action.  The holds you use are generally simple armlocks, and
while effective, they lack the certain... flair our clients
appreciate."

    SHIT!!! Right from the word go he's got me in a hammerlock and
pours on the pressure.  This is the one argument I can't easily
counter, because it's absolutely valid.  It's the same point Barney
keeps reminding me of, because he thought something like this might
come up.  Even so, I find myself completely unprepared for it.
He's got me down on the mat now, still pushing the hammerlock hard.
In my mind's eye, I grit my teeth and try not to cry out, and in
the office I try to keep my face expressionless.

    shit Shit SHIT! FUCK! This is the one thing I didn't want to
hear! Of course my holds are simple.  That's the beauty of them.
They're easily applied, difficult if not impossible to get out of,
and nearly always get a result.  But they look commonplace. The
other girls go for holds that are more awkward to apply, more
difficult to bring the necessary pressure to bear, but they look
flashy.  That's what counts with the punters.

    "Moreover," Lewis continues, "with your current record, it
would difficult to justify your being excluded from the
championship elimination rounds,  and there is a certain chance
that you would win through to a bout for the title. A title few of
our clients would wish you to hold."

    NO! On the mat, Lewis switches his attack from my arm, grabs my
ankles and turns me onto my stomach and crumples my body into a
Boston Crab.  I feel him move my lower legs to his armpits,  then
he sits on me so I can feel his tailbone bite into the small of my
back and I feel the wrench and he pulls my hips off of the mat. I
feel his hands on the inside of my thighs.  I try to brace myself,
but he's got the weight (where from? He's a skinny little runt) and
the leverage.  He starts to lean back. I grit my teeth again.  Then
the pain really starts.  But I don't scream.

    I won't change, and Lewis knows that.  He knows that I won't
give the punters the flashy holds they admire so much.  What he's
saying is that he wants me out of the League.  Wrestling is what I
do. There are other places to do it, surely, but the League is the
best.  Christ, what can I say?  No, there's nothing I can say.  If
he wants me out, I'm out. There's nothing Barney or anyone else can
do about it, not when Lewis has the punters backing him.

    Lewis continues to lean back.  I'm screaming.  I don't want to
submit to the slimy bastard,  but the vertebrae in my lower back
feel like molten lead, I'm losing the feeling in both legs,  and
I'm in serious danger of being broken in half.  If I submit he
takes everything I really value from me.  My job.  My friends.  My
self-respect.  But I'm left with no choice.

    "What do you want me to do, Mr Lewis?" I say, keeping my voice
even.

    "Well, there's a small task you can perform for me..."

    AHA!  Suddenly he's off my back and pulling me to my feet by my
hair. I can't get my legs to work properly but he doesn't have me
yet!

    "... it's something in the nature of... negotiation.  You've
heard of the situation with Jennifer?"

    Lewis has me up on my toes with a straight arm lever.  Strange
that on the mat Lewis uses the armlocks that he criticises me for.

    "I've heard something about it, yes."  I've heard plenty.  Judo
Jenny got into a tizz a while back over a new girl called, you
guessed it, Judo Jackie.  Both girls wear the Judo jacket in the
ring, complete with black belt, and both girls use moves and holds
that come directly from the martial art. Jackie I don't know, but I
once had a match with Jenny and have got to know her quite well
since.

    The 'situation' that Lewis is referring to is the challenge
that Jenny publicly made challenging Jackie to a specialist match.
I know that a number of League people were caught flat-footed by
that.  The question is, what does Lewis want me to do?

    "This match that Jennifer proposes comes at an.... awkward
time.  You know her, even had a match with her once, I understand,
so she may listen to you. I would like you to ask her to postpone
her match. Not withdraw her challenge, you understand, just
postpone."

    It takes a second for me to think, and then it all becomes
crystal clear.  Lewis, you bastard.  On the mat, my knee jerks up
between his legs and crunches his testicles against his pubic bone.
 He screeches and folds up.  It's only through monumental self
control that I don't do the same thing to him in his office.

    "I see.  What terms?" I ask.  Ooo, I'm going to get him for
this.

    "Terms?"  Lewis's facade cracks a little.  On the mat, I grab
his arm and put a foot on his shoulder.

    "Terms I should offer Jenny when she declines your offer.  She
knows full well that if the League won't stage her match now,
others will.  She could do quite well out of it.  Jackie too.  The
League would charge high prices for a seat at her match,  so I
doubt anyone here wants to see the match go anywhere else."

    "Ah... well..."  I crank up the pressure on Lewis's arm. He
starts squealing, a pitiful sound.  He sounds like a sick hamster.

    "I'm going to need conditions to cover every possible thing she
could ask for. If I can't answer her questions, then the deal is
likely to fall through.  I don't think your clients are going to
want that, are they?"

    Lewis is such a bastard.  He knows Jenny won't back down, and
she can command any price she asks for, with the type of match
she's proposing.  Lewis doesn't want the League to pay a big fat
fee, so he sets up negotiations that will fail. They fail because
the person doing the negotiating doesn't have the information ready
to say yes or no on any particular given point.  This buys Lewis
time.  The more things drag on,  the more Jenny will become
frustrated, and start to make concessions.  Interest in the match
will start to wane, or so Lewis will argue, and so he can carve up
Jenny's demands, beginning with her slice of the take.  Moreover,
since the initial foul-up will be perceived as having been a League
failure, Lewis needs someone to take the blame.  Me.

    "This is very true. I'm sure we can come up with the details
you require."  Lewis seems to have regained a little of his
composure.  But he's in trouble, and he knows it.  His scapegoat is
just a little too frisky.

    "I'll get right onto it.  Mrs. Metzen's office is the third on
the left, isn't it?"  I transfer my foot from Lewis's shoulder to
just above his elbow, the pull his arm up with as much force as my
two hands can muster.  There's an ugly cracking sound followed by a
hamsterlike wail.  But I don't let go, and press down with my foot
instead.   "SUBMIT!!" he cries.

    Lewis's face is a picture.  Mrs. Metzen is the one person who
can give me exactly the information I need, and is also immune to
Lewis's tampering. She is most definitely the last person Lewis
would have sent me to for a brief, because she is the one person
who would probably not let me leave her office until she was sure I
had everything I needed.

    "Fourth. Fourth on the left."  Amazing.  Even in abject defeat,
Lewis can't help being precise.  I guess that's something in his
favour.  I walk out of his office without looking back.

    Mrs. Metzen is in.  A lady of about fifty or so, she looks like
she's had one Big Mac too many every day for the past twenty years.
 Plump is a kind way of putting it.  However, being around Mrs.
Metzen tends to put me in a kind frame of mind.  She knows bugger
all about anything, except her job, about which she knows the lot.

    I don't even try to picture Mrs. Metzen on the mat.  It would
be a waste of time. Just hook one leg around that fleshy throat,
and.... no, I don't want to even think about it. Mrs. Metzen
doesn't deserve it.  She makes me feel comfortable.  I don't need
to fight her.  I wouldn't want to.

    She's pleased to see me, even remembers my name, which is good
going since we've only met twice face-to-face.  Sits be down and
pours me a cup of herbal tea, bless her. I give her the outline of
what Lewis wants me to do.  She looks thoughtful.

    "To be honest, I had expected to hear from Mr. Lewis well
before now.  I expect he had particular arrangements to make."
Mrs. Metzen has a talent of unknowing understatement.  Oh yes,
Lewis was making arrangements alright.  He was arranging to have my
career buried.

    "Anyway, you're here now, Sue dear, and I think  I know the
sort of thing you'll find useful."  She gets up and goes to a
filing cabinet.  I look around her office.  It's surprisingly
untidy.  Loads of books and papers stacked everywhere.  Mind you, I
bet she knows where every last one is.

    Mrs. Metzen hands me some sheets of paper.  It looks like a
signed agreement.

    "That should help.  It's the contract Jennifer signed for her
last specialist match."

    "Her last one? I didn't know she'd done one already!"

    "Oh yes, it was some years ago, long before you joined us, I
suppose."

    "How did the match go?"  I didn't know anything about this.

    "That's not really my field, dear.  I do remember someone
saying it was quite brutal, though."  She looks as though the mere
thought of it brings a sour taste to her mouth. How can she work in
this place and remain oblivious to what goes on here?

    "I do know that the reasons for that match," she says, tapping
the papers I'm holding, "were identical to the reasons Jennifer has
for this one. Judo Jackets and all."

    Things are starting to fall into place.  Years ago,  there was
a Judo girl in the League.  Then Jenny comes along, and wears the
jacket too.  There's a challenge match, and Jenny smashes her rival
into jelly. Jenny becomes Judo supremo.  Only now, along comes
another challenger, and this time it's Jenny who's the defending
champion.  Yes, I can see why she wants this.  If I wasn't sure
before about the slim chances of her backing down, I am now.

    And Lewis wants Jackie to win.  Christ, how could I have been
so stupid? Of course!  Lewis wants a nice clean succession, but I
bet he thinks Jackie isn't ready.   She's quite young, I think,
and inexperienced.  There are some who think that I'm inexperienced.
Lewis wants her to have more matches before she faces Jenny.  Seat
prices for Jackie's matches could increase geometrically with the
specialist match as the finale.  Yes, Lewis, now I can see where
you're coming from. Bit of a shame that I'm going to help spoil it
for you.

    "This is going to have to be updated, isn't it?" I ask,
indicating the document.   "I mean, at the very least, the money
will have to be amended to take inflation into account."

    "Oh heavens yes, of course. Even more to the point, Jennifer's
position is a lot stronger that it was then."  Yes indeed. She was
the challenger then.  She's the champion now.  "But more than that,
there are a number of things that Jennifer may require or request
now that simply wouldn't have been possible before.  What frames of
reference should we use when making the update?"

    "Why not just offer her the best possible deal the League can
afford?  It should save time, and time is money, or so I'm told."

    "Yes dear, that's true.  Mr Lewis may disagree, but I'm willing
to support you on that point."  I wonder if she knows how much her
support means.  Lewis is going to get screwed, and there won't be a
thing he can do about it.  "The specialist match contract generally
contains clauses and conditions that the standard League contract
doesn't refer to, mainly because they're unnecessary in a normal
match.  However, as you'll see from the second item on page one..."

    We talk at length about various facets of the contract.  Some
things are chopped and changed,  but two hours later the finished
product looks remarkably similar to the original, except for a few
appetising added extras, together with a greatly increased fee.

    "You should be all set then, Sue dear.  Remember what we've
discussed.  Now if you'll wait a second, I'll get Jennifer's
address, so you can take it round to her."  Mrs. Metzen is starting
to sound a little tired.  It's probably way past her bedtime.

    "That's all right, Mrs Metzen. I know they way."

    "Oh dear, Sue dear, please keep that to yourself!  The League
has a very strict policy about fraternisation between its girls.  I
know I was about to give you the address anyway, but please be
careful.  And please, don't call me Mrs. Metzen any more.  My
friends call me Bambi."

    I don't believe it. I really, really don't.  BAMBI??!!!

    "All right then,  Bambi,"  Oooh! What a sweet, shy smile she
has! "I can never thank you enough for this. I'll let you know how
it goes."

    She watches me leave, then waves at me from the door of her
office.

    I go straight down to the car park, get into to my car, put the
key into the ignition, then, unaccountably, stop.

    Mrs. Metzen is NOT, by any stretch of the imagination, a Bambi.
 Good grief.

    Then I think what I could have been named. I'm not a Bambi,
either.  Hmm.  I suppose I got off lightly with Sue. It could have
been much worse.

    I'll bet Lewis made up that whole bit about the punters hating
my guts.  There are some who probably wish I'd use more holds, but
I'm a winner, and a lot of them like that. I mean, look at Karen
Crayford.  Never used more that three holds in her life.  Rarely
lost though.  Even got the championship for a while.  She was well
liked, too.

    On the other hand, there's Raksha Vermi.  Asian girl with a
tall buxom figure that causes traffic accidents every time she
walks down the street.  She never wins.  But she loses so pitifully
that she's probably one of the best paid girls in the League,
especially where private matches are concerned.  When she's in a
hold she moans, writhes, whimpers, cries and hits the button of
every punter watching.  I think she's currently doing a series of
matches with that Dutch backbreaker specialist whose name I forget
for the moment.  Make no mistake, Raksha gets hurt, sometimes
hospitalised, but she gets the best treatment that money can buy,
and she get paid phenomenal amounts for her pains.

    I smile.  They can hardly kick me out while Raksha stays.

    No,  Lewis just wanted to rattle me enough so I'd do his
bidding.  Then he'd be able to get rid of me for messing up what
looked like a potentially lucrative deal.  A few months later,
Judo Jenny would meet Judo Jackie for the Judo title,  but by then
Lewis would have made sure that Jackie would win, and Lewis would
pull in seriously big money. And I would have been history.

    Sit back and watch, Lewis. Watch me mess up your little plan.

    I turn the key and my wonderful car bursts into life.

Copywright Bomur 1996