Chapter 17: Just Sayin’ (Part 1 of 2)
I wrote this in honor of my LGBQT+ friends for Pride month
But how come when you ask her
"What's wrong, baby tell me
You been acting cold lately"
She turns around, says she's fine
And you leave her there
What's wrong with you man?
Can't you see that
She's hurting?
Boy, she needs you now
I'm just sayin'
-Patch Quiwa
It’s midnight and Clarissa is in bed. I’ve been up since 5:00 AM this morning. I can’t sleep, but at least I can take advantage of the quiet time and try to collect my thoughts.
The fight with Cynthia was totally unexpected, but I’m glad it happened. I know my victory involved some luck, but I feel great about it. I’m considering looking for an arranged fight again. My training sessions with Austin have been going well. I’m improving and feeling confident. I just have this urge to test myself and see where I really am at right now.
Last week, I perused the catpin website for the first time in quite a while, searching for potential opponents. There were several inquiries and challenges in my inbox. Most of them were easily dismissible. Some of the inquiries came from women who were massively overweight. Others were from men contacting me on behalf of their wives. No thanks. If I don’t speak with the woman directly, we don’t fight. Others were just plain bizarre.
I find that I’m craving the private fights with husbands or significant others as the only spectators. Competing in combat with another woman in front of your loved one is a thrill like no other. The physical toll, the emotional intensity, and yes, the sexiness is simply indescribable. The winner can feel a euphoric high like she’s on top of the world. The loser might experience crushing humiliation. The victress feels like she’s the most beautiful, powerful, sexy woman on the planet. She’s happy and proud to show off her body. The loser just feels naked and exposed. The husband of the winner pours his love and desire on her as they passionately kiss and later have a night of great sex. The spouse of the loser picks up her broken body and spirit, dries her tears and begins the task of building her up again. At this time, I’d prefer to find a suitable opponent online rather than using the catpin in public and bumping into a random fighter.
A few of my contacts have potential to be my next opponent. I’ve been exchanging messages with a woman named Pritha and her husband Sanjay for the past several days. They’ve been searching for an opponent for Pritha and I think she and I match up well. She checks all my boxes. She’s an inch shorter than me but we’re the same weight. We have similar experience and skill level. She has a winning record. They live a four-hour drive from my house. We vetted each other and were satisfied with what we learned. They own a popular Indian restaurant and live in an affluent neighborhood. They are well-respected in their community.
Pritha and Sanjay offered to host me in their home next Saturday. In exchange for my driving time and costs, they invited me to stay for dinner and sleep overnight in their guest room, then return home Sunday morning. However, there is one problem. They insist I bring my husband. No compromises. I invented the excuse that my husband is working this weekend. Their reply was a rather dismissive, “OK, maybe some other time.” Crap!
The truth is most couples seeking private home fights require the opponent to bring her husband. I don’t blame them. I’d do the same. Bringing a single woman into the house to fight a married woman can be awkward to say the least. First, the fights are usually sexually charged. The women are competitive and the husbands just love it. The physical punishment, cattiness, competitiveness, high adrenaline levels, extreme emotion, and sexual tension create a very intense intimate experience for the couple. A single woman seems out of place.
The wife might be concerned about her husband being turned on by her single opponent. Of course, that’s usually the case. We’re not naïve. Nearly all men commit thought crimes. But having both husbands present tempers how all parties might react to sexual arousal. And who tends to the single opponent after she wins or is defeated? She has no one to celebrate with or hold her when she cries. And having the single woman stay in the house overnight after fighting the wife is very awkward to say the least. Also, a woman venturing alone into a stranger’s house for a fight might have safety concerns. So, yes, I understand. I should have thought of this earlier. So, now I no longer have plans this weekend. Perhaps it’s time to shine up the catpin.
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“Well, Mrs. Martinez, I have good news,” I say to the morbidly obese middle-aged patient in bed 12 in the ICU. “Your heart failure is improved. We’ve removed twenty-five pounds of fluid from your body. All the water is out of your lungs. Your oxygen requirement is down to just 2 liters. Your doctors put in the order to transfer you out of the ICU and to a floor bed. Congratulations ma’am, you’ve graduated!”
“Oh, that’s good,” the Mexican woman smiles. At 350 lb., and a Body Mass Index of 50, Mrs. Martinez has all of the health problems that you might expect from her situation: heart disease, diabetes, arthritis, obstructive sleep apnea, all of which could be reversed or modified if she were to lose 200 lb. Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem realistic.
In order to transfer Mrs. Martinez out of the ICU, we need to move her from the bed to a litter, which is a stretcher on wheels. The first step is to fold a sheet, known as a draw sheet, and place it under the patient with both edges hanging over the side of the bed. Next, the bed and litter are positioned side-by-side. At least one person stands on the side of the bed and another next to the litter. Each lifter grasps the edge of the draw sheet and pulls upward, using the draw sheet as a sling to elevate the patient. The patient is positioned over the litter, then gently placed downward on it.
Due to Mrs. Martinez’ weight, this job will require an army of nurses. I manage to recruit five others, with me as the sixth, all of us female. We position the litter, with three nurses on each side doing the lifting. Each of us take hold of the draw sheet.
“On the count of three, we lift,” I instruct. “Ready, one, two, three.” The six of us grunt and groan as we pull upward. So far, so good. Mrs. Martinez lifts up about an inch. That might be enough. “Let’s transfer.”
Sarah, the youngest nurse loses her grip and screams. Mrs. Martinez drops on the junction between the bed and the litter. The litter brake is apparently broken and rolls away from the bed. The bed and the litter separate, leaving Mrs. Martinez now wedged between the gap and about to fall on the floor. Instinctively, I reach out to grab her and take hold of the draw sheet as the large woman sinks further. Our obese patient is suspended between the bed and the litter, held up only by a sheet supported by a few nurses. We can barely hang on as her weight is too great. We are bent at awkward angles. Time is our enemy. Our muscles are quivering. Our faces are sweating. It’s unthinkable, but this lady is about to crash onto the hard floor.
“Call Calvin,” I scream. “Get him in here, NOW!”
“Calvin, we need you!” another nurse shouts with terror in her voice.
Mrs. Martinez slips further. I can barely breathe as I try to hold her upward. I don’t think I can withstand this another second.
Several seconds go by, although it seems much longer. Help arrives in the room in the form of a 6’5” 285 lb. muscular African-American male nurse in blue scrubs. Despite his large size, he moves with grace and agility as he bends over the bed. His biceps bulge as he reaches down gripping Mrs. Martinez under her arms with a firm gentle strength. “I got you, Mrs. Martinez,” he says in his soothing deep sonorous voice. “Grab onto my shoulders.” I step aside as the other nurses hold their breath. Slowly but surely, Mrs. Martinez begins to rise, inch by inch as Calvin’s muscles contract and strain beneath his scrubs. I step closer trying to assist in any way I can, but Calvin is a one-man rescue operation. With gritted teeth, he manages to pull Mrs. Martinez free from the gap and lifts her onto the bed with a grunt. We collectively exhale as the tension dissipates and another crisis is past – thanks to Calvin.
As for me, this near miss caps off an already stressful morning. I take a deep breath and feel my legs wobble as I head to the break room for another coffee. I sit alone and quiet, upset with myself for letting this incident happen.
The door swings open and I see Calvin’s imposing but magnificent silhouette in my peripheral vision. “You okay, Baby Girl?” he asks in his distinct voice.
“I’ve had better days,” I answer. “Thanks for bailing us out again.”
“Anytime, Baby Girl. That’s why I’m here.”
“I think I need to find another line of work,” I reply.
“It’s not your fault. The brake went out,” Calvin reassures me. “We’ll need to file a report. There’s nothing you could have done… Just sayin’”
Most ICUs have at least one strong male nurse who serves as the staff’s muscle when needed. Sometimes we need a man to help move heavy equipment, lift heavy patients, contend with agitated violent patients, or open a jar of pickles in the break room. For us, that guy is Calvin.
But Calvin is more than just a strong pair of arms. Much more. He is an excellent nurse and one of my closest friends. He is one of the most kind, gentle, compassionate, wise persons I know. He’d do anything for anybody. He’s always happy to share his advice, his experiences, or just simply listen. And now, pushing forty years of age, Calvin has so much to share. He grew up in a rough neighborhood in Houston, surrounded by drugs, gangs and violence. He overcame that, served in the Army, became a registered nurse, and is now working on his MBA. Calvin dealt with racism throughout his life, and when he came out as a gay black man, he faced the added burden of homophobia.
There’s a joke that behind every great woman is a gay male friend. I know that is a stereotype, but as a woman, I think there is truth to it. I’ve always noticed that my friendships with gay men are different than with straight guys. When romance and sexuality are completely off the table, we’re less guarded, we can take off our pretensions, we’re more likely to show our vulnerability, and we make deeper connections. A gay male friend is more likely to have a girl’s best interests at heart.
Nurses wear many hats. In our work as healthcare providers, we often take on the roles of healers, psychologists, counselors, ministers, teachers, or just someone to cry on. But who do nurses go to when they need help? For many of the nurses in our ICU, including me, that go-to person is Calvin. Is there a relationship problem? Go see Calvin. Need help making a career decision? Calvin can help. Do you just need to ventilate with someone? Calvin will listen. Calvin has a way of making you feel comfortable and open up. He’s honest, nonjudgmental, confidential. He encourages you to be yourself and to be true to who you are. As one of my co-workers said, “I feel like I can fart in Calvin’s presence and not be embarrassed.” I’m not sure if that sounds more like a compliment or an insult, but I know what she means. He has a way about him that makes you willing to dismantle your filters.
Calvin’s nickname for me is “Baby Girl.” That is not a sexualized or demeaning connotation. He gives pet names to his closest female friends, like “Lil’ Sis,” “Sweet Pea,” or “Pumpkin.” The joke is that he is our big brother and Calvin’s nicknames are his acceptance of us as his little sisters. Calvin is aware of my catpin adventures, although I’m not sure of how much of it he really understands. He knows about my separation and pending divorce with Tom. His advice is usually spot on. I wish I had followed his recommendations with the Robin situation. It would have saved a whole lot of trouble.
“Look, Baby Girl,” he says, “I know you’ve been working hard and you’re stressed out. You’re off this weekend. You should try to get away and relax. Take your mind off of work.”
“Yeah,” I respond, my tone downbeat. “My plans for the weekend got cancelled. Tom has Clarissa this weekend. I’m alone.”
“You know what?” Calvin asks as he strokes his goatee. “My husband, Marcus, he’s out of town for a conference this weekend. I don’t have anything planned either.” He pauses for a moment, then makes eye contact with me, his voice sounding lower and more personal. “How about we do something together?”
The idea of spending time with Calvin outside the hospital is appealing. “What do you have in mind?” I ask.
“Oh, I don’t know. Anything you want, Baby Girl. We could go to dinner. See a movie, a play or a concert. Or we could take my truck and get out of the city. You know Marcus and I own a lake house. It’s beautiful this time of year. We could go swimming, hiking, or just sit on the balcony, look at the lake and do nothing.”
“Sounds great,” I say. “I’d love that. We have a date!”
We decide to have lunch while we are in the break room and continue our conversation. I find the change of events amusing. I got rejected by Pritha and Sanjay for not having a husband. But because of that, I’ll spend a weekend at a lake house with a gay male friend. It’s kind of funny.
During lunch, my thoughts drift to a crazy idea I had last night before I went to sleep. Perhaps I could find a man who would pose as my husband and come with me to my fight with Pritha. We’d have our fight and the Indian couple would never find out. But where would I find such a man? Hire an escort service? No, not worth the cost and hassle. Where would I find a man that I could trust in such an intense and potentially sexual environment? Where can I find a man who wouldn’t try to take advantage of me? What man would understand the drive that makes women want to pull each other’s hair out? What man would watch my back? What man would I allow to see the most vulnerable side of me? Or see me cry? What man would I allow to see me topless or naked, if it came to that?
“Hey Calvin,” I said as he looks up from his avocado salad. “I have another idea. How would you like to make a four hour trip this weekend and be my husband?”
The perplexed look on his face is one that I will never forget as I explain the situation to him. “Am I hearing all of this correctly?” he asks with a puzzled look.
“It’s easy Calvin,” I explain. “Let’s review it again. We drive four hours to the Gupta’s house. I checked them out and they seem very nice and reasonably sane. Their restaurant gets great reviews. We pose as a married couple. They don’t need to know. You and I will be Calvin and Kiva Robinson. They let us in their home. We relax for a few hours. They’ll serve us food, although Pritha and I will be eating light. Next, Pritha and I will fight each other in bikinis. The fight ends when one of us taps out or verbally submits. It can end if one of the husbands throws in the towel or if one of us gets…knocked out.”
I see Calvin wince. “Hold on, Baby Girl,” he interrupts. About that last part. What are the rules to this fight?”
“Not much,” I answer. The main thing is no punches, kicks or scratches to the head, biting, or eye gauging. Pretty much anything else goes.”
“That doesn’t sound very safe to me.”
“Don’t worry, Calvin. I’ve never heard of anyone in the catpin world getting seriously hurt.”
He gives me a look of incredulity. “So let me get this straight,” he starts. We’re going to drive four hours to the house of complete strangers. They’re making us dinner. Afterward, you and the wife are stripping down to bikinis and will beat the hell out of each other. And we stay overnight?”
“Yeah, Calvin. That’s the gist of it.”
He groans. “You know, Baby Girl, I’ve had my share of fights growing up in the streets of Houston. It was about survival. I never thought of fights as cute or sexy. I’m just sayin’. Is this what white people do for a hobby?”
“No Calvin,” I explain. It’s a female thing. We have women from all races and ethnicities in the catpin world. Look, you work around a lot of women. You know how competitive and catty we can get. The catpin girls just take it one step further and are honest about it. We meet. We fight. We determine who the better woman is and we move on.”
“And why do you need me there?” he asks.
“Because this couple only invites married couples. Of course, we’re not married, but there is no other man I trust more than I trust you. Your job is to pretend you’re my husband and be my cornerman, so to speak. You watch the fight. When I win, you give me a hug, we’ll have a few drinks, then we’ll go to bed and go home in the morning.”
“And if you lose?” he asks.
“Then you hold onto me and let me cry on your shoulder all night.”
Calvin takes a deep breath. “I don’t know about this, Baby Girl. This doesn’t seem like the healthiest thing for you to be doing right now. Not with all you’ve been through. It sounds like there’s a lot of physicality and emotion to this. There’s a lot of potential to be hurt either way. And if you need a man to be with you, shouldn’t it be someone with whom you’re in a long-term romantic relationship? I mean, like a life partner?” He pauses. “I just don’t think I’d be a good substitute for that….I’m just sayin’.”
I’ve learned to take notice whenever Calvin uses the phrase, “just sayin’.” It’s his way of warning that he sees something that the rest of us don’t, but in time, we will make the same realization he has. I found that he is always right when he ends a statement with “just sayin’.” He said it when he warned me about Frank. He said it when he saw the issues with Robin spiraling out of control. But this time, I think his concerns are unwarranted.
“Calvin, I understand and deeply appreciate your worries. But I’ll be fine no matter what. I really want to do this. I just feel like there are big changes coming to my life and now would be a good time to go out and test myself. There is no man in my life right now and I would be so honored if you’d come and watch me fight. It would mean a lot to me.”
“After your fight, are we sharing a bed together?” he inquires.
“Of course,” I tell him. “Remember, we’re supposed to be married.”
“And you’re okay with that?” he asks as he raises an eyebrow.
“Yes, absolutely,” I plead. “Why wouldn’t I be? You’re my big brother. Are you okay sleeping in the same bed with me?”
“Oh, I’m fine with that,” he assures me. “But you know…I’m just sayin’.”
Now what does he mean by that, I wonder. I get it. He’s being overly protective.
“Alright, listen Baby Girl,” he resumes. “You have been nothing but respectful and supportive of my lifestyle. I love you to death. I have shared some of my deepest personal secrets with you. The least I can do is return the favor. So, yes, I will come to your fight. I will pretend to be your husband and cornerman, or whatever else you need me to be. I’ll watch your back and try to keep you out of trouble the best I can.”
“Thank you, Calvin,” I whisper as we stand and hug. “I couldn’t ask for anything more.”
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It’s the day of the fight. Working with Calvin the final two work days before the weekend has been interesting. I noticed I started practicing for the role of us being a married couple in preparation for our visit to the Guptas. I joked with him a little more than I normally do. I brought him coffee and heated up his lunch. At one point, I put my arm around him and even flirted. And…I kept thinking about how hot his body made me feel. My eyes gazed on him longer than usual. I looked at his handsome face, muscles bulging right out of his scrubs. His broad chest narrowed into a waist that I would bet is a six-pack. He is a beautiful soul inside a majestic physical specimen. And he is a man I can never have.
Saturday morning arrives. For the first two hours, I barely have time to think about the fight. I make breakfast and pack Clarissa’s backpack for the weekend with her father. I know he has plans for her including a trip to an amusement park and a boat outing.
Tom’s car pulls up to the curb. I take Clarissa outside, hold her hand, and walk her halfway down the driveway. Tom is not alone. The passenger car door opens and a strawberry blonde woman steps out. Her name is Jeanne, a physical therapist I heard he has been dating. I now see the rumor is true. Jeanne approaches Clarissa and me as her long legs saunter up the driveway until the two of us are face to face. We say nothing.
“Bye Mommy, I love you,” Clarissa says as I give her a parting hug and kiss on her cheek. I reluctantly and painfully let go of her little hand, and watch it claimed by Jeanne.
“Hello Clarissa, are you ready for a fun weekend,” Jeanne warbles as she turns my little girl away from me and walks her to the car.
I don’t know much about this woman. I met her once briefly. The sight of another woman replacing me in my baby’s life is utterly jarring. Jeanne helps Clarissa buckle her back seatbelt and reopens the passenger door as I stand motionless and speechless. “Oh Kiva,” she turns to me as if I’m an afterthought. We’ll have her back tomorrow night at eight o’clock.”
I remain silent and motionless. Tom doesn’t even have the nerve to look at me. I stand and stare as the car drives off out of sight.
Well, this throws a wrench into my mental preparation for the fight, I tell myself as I walk back into the house. It’s amazing how quickly a mood can change. I woke up excited about this fight trip, but now I’m somber and melancholy. I need to snap out of it. Calvin will be here to pick me up in two hours. I pour another cup of coffee and watch some mindless television programs. I don’t move for the next hour. I waste another thirty minutes playing silly games on my iphone. Time is running out. I need to get ready.
I pack the cheetah print bikini I bought for such an occasion and haven’t yet worn. I dress in jeans, a blouse and light sweater and sneakers and sunglasses. I add toiletry supplies, first-aid kit, bottles of water, my makeup, nightgown and an extra set of bra, panties and socks to the overnight bag and I am ready.
Calvin arrives in his pickup truck and my mood starts to pick up.
“Hey Baby Girl,” he says as he stands at the doorway. “You ready for this?”
“Yeah, I’m ready,” I reply, unable to conceal my downtrodden voice and body language.
“Alright, sweetheart,” He responds. “What’s wrong?” I should have known. Calvin can read my face like no one else can.
“It’s nothing,” I try to explain. “It’s just that I had to say goodbye to Clarissa. Tom came with his girlfriend.”
“Oh, Baby Girl,” he says as he hugs me against his massive chest. “You know, you don’t have to do this. I don’t think you should be fighting someone. Call it off. You’ve been through too much. You’re risking making things worse for yourself… Just sayin’.”
I hate it sometimes when Calvin makes sense. But I can’t call off the fight. “I’ll be fine,” I tell him. “Perhaps I need to destroy someone to feel better. Let’s go.”
Once we’re in the truck, my mood lightens. Before long, Calvin has me laughing and joking. We have a fun conversation about a variety of topics. We avoid talking about nursing. Instead, we discuss music, film, politics, restaurants. We learn that we both studied theater in college. We tell each other funny stories.
As we get closer to our destination, we discuss our fake backstory of our marriage. We decide on how we’ve met, places we’ve been, where we spent our honeymoon, our future plans. The four hours go quickly, until I realize the GPS directed us into the Gupta’s neighborhood.
The development looks affluent and peaceful as we pass an array of beautiful homes and immaculately manicured lawns. “You have arrived at your destination,” the GPS tells us as Calvin turns into the driveway of an elegant large two-story brick home. So, we’re here. I’m about to fight with a woman I’ve never met. My nerves are a mess. I take one last look at myself in the mirror I kept in my bag. I start fidgeting with my hair. Calvin places his comforting hand on my knee and gives me a reassuring look.
“Are you ready for this, Baby Girl?” he asks me.
I nod and can barely get out the word, “Yeah.”
He let’s himself out of the car and walks around to the passenger side where he opens the door for me. I lift myself up, leave the car and fling my bag over my shoulder, and place my sunglasses back on my face. Calvin shuts the door and I follow him up the pavement to the house.
“Calvin, wait,” I tell him. I remembered what my trainer Austin said. Never look passive or timid before a fight. Always put out an assertive take-charge persona. “Let me walk in front of you to be the first one to the door.” Feeling a surge of bravado, I ring the doorbell. Calvin’s eyes scan the property as if he’s expecting trouble to come crashing in any minute.
The door opens and Sanjay, a medium-sized thin man with dark skin and black hair and light goatee greets us. His eyes light up when he looks at us; perhaps he is surprised to see an interracial couple. He gives us a warm smile. “Greetings,” he says in a moderate accent. “I am Sanjay. We are so pleased you could make it.”
“We are happy to be here,” I answer. “I’m Kiva Robinson and this is my husband, Calvin. Thank you for hosting us.”
Sanjay looks puzzled. “Kiva Robinson?” he asks. “I thought your name is Kiva Sheppard.”
Oh shit! I think to myself. I haven’t even entered the house yet and I’ve already blown our charade. “Oh,” I stammer. “I need to update my profile on the catpin site. You see, I was married before.”
“I see,” Sanjay responds. “Well, please come in.”
We enter the foyer of a lovely spacious home filled with the aroma of exotic spices from the kitchen. On one side of the foyer is a beautifully ornate living room. On the other side is a capacious kitchen where they prepare their professional level home meals. It is from the kitchen that Pritha emerges. She is a gorgeous woman with long dark hair and brown piercing eyes. She is dressed in traditional garb, wiping her hands on an apron fastened around her trunk.
“I am Pritha,” she says in a polite but businesslike manner as she holds out her hand toward me. I shakily accept her handshake.
“I am Kiva,” I return. Pritha’s eyes look me over up and down.
“You are even more stunning in person,” she purrs with a hint of challenge in her voice. I return the eye walk over her body.
“Okay,” Sanjay says. “Pritha will finish with the dinner. I will get you some drinks and we can wait and talk in the living room until the food is ready.
Our male host leads us through the house to the library; a grand room filled with dark mahogany bookshelves that stretch to the high ceiling. Next, we enter the large living room. The walls are adorned with a blend of traditional Indian tapestries and sleek, contemporary art. Dim lights cast a warm glowing ambience. Candles flicker on the mantle, casting shadows dancing across the floor. In the center of the room, a makeshift arena has been set up. A plush, velvet rug lies on the hardwood floor, surrounded by a circle of comfortable armchairs. “This is where Kiva and Pritha will have their tussle,” he tells us with a smile.
Sanjay , Calvin and I sit and make small talk. Our preparation paid off as we were able to regurgitate our bullshit story of our married life together without a hitch. The politeness of the moment just before two women try to beat the hell out of either feels odd. I’m okay with it. The only other time I fought a woman in her home was the fight with Cynthia. This feels different. There is no animosity. I don’t hate Pritha. I just want to force her to submit to me in her own home in front of her husband. Who knows? Maybe we’ll be friends later, but right now, she’s a warrior who must be conquered and made to bow before me.
Before long, Pritha calls us to the sumptuous dining room. I can see why their restaurant is successful. The table is laden with steaming dishes of baranyi, curry and naan flatbread. The aroma of cardamom, cumin, and coriander, and the sweet scent of mango chutney, is out of this world. Sanjay directs us to our seats while Pritha puts the finishing touches on her culinary creation. We sit and continue light conversation but beneath the politeness, there is growing tension. We all know why I’m here. Pritha and I eat very little. Neither of us say much as we pick at our food and allow the men to carry the conversation. Calvin, ever the observant one, senses the uneasiness and tries to lighten up the atmosphere with stories from his time in the Army and his quit wit. Sanjay laughs, but Pritha watches me like a coiled snake, gazing at me with a predatory stare.
We finish dinner. Sanjay leads the four us through a tour of the house. Calvin and I hold hands like the couple we are pretending to be. The library is a grand room filled with dark mahogany bookshelves that stretch to the high ceiling. The living room walls are adorned with a blend of traditional Indian tapestries and sleek, contemporary art. Dim lights cast a warm glowing ambience, and candles flicker on the mantle, casting shadows that dance across the floor. As we stand next to the velvet rug that will serve as our battle ground, Sanjay reviews the rules. “Remember, no punches, kicks, or scratches to the face. Calvin and I will be sitting in armchairs on opposite sides of the mat. The match will end when one woman submits by tapping or by voice. The husbands can surrender on their wives’ behalf by tossing a white towel into the arena. Are their any questions?” We each nod “no.”
Pritha breaks her silence. “You know, Kiva, I’ve fought a lot of women, but none as desperate as you,” The twinkling candlelight reflects off her eyes and white teeth as she smiles, giving her an eerie demonic look. “I wonder what your ex-husband would have to say about your escapade.”
Her words hit me like a slap in the face. My ex-husband? What does she know about him? Does she know Calvin and I aren't really married? “Desperation?” I reply. “I think that’s your department. And when I beat your ass, I don’t care if Tom finds out or not.” I try not to look rattled.
“You’re going down, Kiva. I’m going to rip you to shreds right here on this spot and leave you begging for more. And I’m going to enjoy it,” Pritha snarls.”
“Bring it on, bitch,” I snap back. “I’ve been waiting for this. You’ve never fought anyone like me before.”
“May I propose a wager?” Pritha asks. “I suggest the loser must hand wash the dishes all by herself.”
“Kiva, do you accept that bet?” Sanjay asks. It seems like an unfair bet. As the hostess, wouldn’t Pritha wash the dishes anyway. Yes, I usually offer to help clean up when I’m a dinner guest, but this feels like Pritha has nothing to lose. Still, it seems like an innocuous bet and it’s be fun to watch her beaten ass work a little longer in the kitchen.
“Yeah, I’m good with it,” I answer,
“Well, this should be interesting,” Sanjay chuckles, clearly enjoying the catty exchange. “Come this way, I’ll show you to your guest room.” The four of us climb up the stairs where we are taken to a cozy bedroom with and attached bathroom and shower. “You will be staying here tonight.”
“You will be using the bathroom to wash the blood off your broken body,” Pritha says. “And we’re letting you use the bedroom so you can have a place to cry all night.”
“Is that so,” I answer, keeping my voice steady. “If you’re trying to intimidate me, you’ve picked the wrong person.”
“We’ll close the door and give you some privacy,” Sanjay says as he and Pritha turn away. “Meet us at the arena downstairs in your bikini in fifteen minutes.”
“Damn, Baby Girl,” Calvin exclaims as the door closes. “Are you sure this is okay? That woman looks like she wants to take your head off. This is freaky…I’m just sayin’.”
“It’ll be fine Calvin,” I urge. “I will ask something of you and please hear me out. Do not throw in the towel under any circumstances. I can submit on my own. I don’t want you to get nervous and stop the fight prematurely. You have to trust me on this one. Please never throw in the towel. Promise me?
He appears uncomfortable with this request. “Yeah, I promise.”
“Good. I’m going to change now.”
I strip off my clothes and take a moment to inspect my nude body in the mirror. I take the cheetah print bikini out of my bag and pull off the tags. From the mirror’s reflection, I see Calvin walking past, not realizing I left the bathroom door open. He gets a full back view of my bare ass and a mirror shot of my exposed tits.
“Oh Geez,” he says as he covers his eyes and quickly jumps away from the bathroom door. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know…”
“It’s fine, Calvin,” I assure him. “It’s just me. I’m your sister.”
“Yeah, I know,” he responds, clearly embarrassed by my nudity. “But still… I’m just sayin’.”
I adjust my ponytail. The bikini feels a little tight on my body since it’s the first time I’ve worn it. I show it to Calvin who nods in approval. “Okay, cornerman, I tell him. Lead the way.”
Calvin takes me by the hand as we leave the guest room, walk down the hallway, and descend the stairs. In the living room, Pritha and Sanjay are there watching us. We make our way to the living room. The lights have been turned up. The velvet rug feels soft and smooth beneath my bare feet as we stand to face our adversaries. “Kiva, you look lovely” Sanjay says. “Please come this way.” I jump up to grab Calvin’s head and pull it down so I can plant my lips on his for a final pre-fight kiss before Sanjay leads me to the center of the rug.
Pritha gets into my space as we stare nose to nose. She is a little shorter than me but a little curvier and bustier. Her arms look strong. Her bikini is a brightly colored floral print pattern of mostly red, green and yellow colors that complements her dark skin. Her silky hair is tied into a large tight bun. Austin taught me the art of the stare down. We scowl, we don’t blink, even when the flash of Sanjay’s camera goes off.
Sanjay directs Calvin to one of the armchairs and hands my faux husband a white towel. Sanjay seats himself holding a towel of his own. Pritha and I stare at each other like two statues. Sanjay orders us to take a few steps back.
“Are you ready, ladies?” he asks. “One, two, three, FIGHT!”
To be continued.
