Chapter 9
She stood in the mirror, hands on her hips, head tilted to the side,
lost in some transit thought. It wasn't as easy as always. It wasn't,
"Wear the hat; don't wear the hat." It was more like �Feel, don�t feel,� and she
wasn�t getting any closer to a decision. But how long had it been
since she had seen Jeff? Hours? She saw him briefly at the production meeting,
but she was too busy listening to the show's card to even acknowledge his
existence. The stares she received from Amy were of no assistance.
She adjusted her top with little care, pressing it down as her hands
slipped over her red vinyl pants. She looked nice, good enough for a
crowd full of people from her home country. She glanced over her attire one
last time. Red vinyl pants, a black leather top with red lining around the
collar. She decided against the hat and fiddled with the black medical
tape around her left hand. How much longer did she have to play up to this
injury for it to seem real? Trish puckered her glossy pink lips and thought of what she had to do
tonight. Not the best way to perform for her Canadian comrades, but
she did what she could when given a storyline.
"Nice outfit."
Trish licked her lips quickly before turning her head some, watching
as Amy strolled into the room, hands in her back pockets with her head high.
She never lost that aurora about her. She was laidback, almost breezy like
the air whenever she moved. Her head was always up and it could've been
the face but it was definitely the eyes that defined her extreme nature.
"Thanks," Trish said softly and she didn't return to her glancing in
the mirror. She had done enough. "I don't hate you or anything Trish. Jeff seems pretty adamant about
me clarifying that to you," Amy boasted, gradually finding a seat on one
of the benches in the room. She eyed Trish with mild concern.
"What do you think of me Amy?" Trish asked, daring to look at her,
eyes squinted because she wanted to know. She wanted Amy to know.
Amy sat there, face empty with eyes that still wanted to speak. Trish
sighed and couldn't find words to fight back the stares. She flipped
locks of her blonde hair back and reached for her black coat. Maybe Amy
wasn't bold enough to respond right away? Trish didn't care. She decided not
to feel.
"You're a great person Trish. You're an improving wrestler, a fun
person to hang out with, and the only Diva I am close to in the Federation,"
Amy declared, leaning back a little. She positioned her hands behind her
back, resting them against the wood of the bench for support. Trish lifted her coat and began to slip it on. "And outside of the
company?" Amy laughed, tossing her hair to one side. Trish wasn't taking this
easy. It was obvious.
"I don't think I know you well enough outside of this company to lay
judgment on you Trish. I'm just going off of what I've seen," Amy
said, confidence ringing in her voice as strong as the raspy vocals that
rattled through her new theme music.
Trish shook her head and sighed loudly. Wasn't that what everyone
did? Didn't they all judge Trish by what she did in this company? She was
just that blonde that spent three months being the boss' bitch and his
daughter's thorn. She was the one that competed in useless bra and panty matches
with the likes of Terri Runnels and Stacy Keibler. And she was just the
Canadian that finally got some lucky break and became Women's Champion, only to
have it taken away during some quick match on regular television. Who was
Trish Stratus other than just some girl in the Federation?
"See you out there Lita," she said low enough that she was sure she
was the only one that heard herself speak. "Give me a good match Stratus," Amy called back and stayed motionless
when Trish departed from the room, stuck in some thought about who Trish really was.
*Chp10*
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