The Night Rose

Roslyn looked up hopefully at the clock. Thank God there was only five minutes till the end of her shift. It had been a wild day. Everyone was getting their last-minute orders in time to get boozed up for the Christmas break. The customers had been more obnoxious than normal.

A teenage boy with dodgy ID was nastier than most. The little prick complained about having a ‘fat chick’ serve him. What did he think it was — a bloody modelling agency? Yeah, I know I’ll never win a beauty competition but why the fuck would you say that. That was bloody low. Real low.

Then there were the two young women lingering around the front counter. One of them had a skirt so short you could nearly see what she had for breakfast. The other wore tight jeans with an even tighter top that made her breasts poke out like little mountain peaks. They reminded Roslyn of Toblerone pieces.

‘Hey you,’ Toblerone Tits said.

‘You talking to me?’ Roslyn replied, her blood rising.

‘Who d’ya reckon. Do you stock any of the Finnish Vodka?’

‘This way,’ Roslyn grumbled, making her way over to a corner of the store.

‘My god, she’s got thunder thighs,’ she heard Tiny Skirt whisper behind her. Both girls giggled like baboons.

Roslyn considered whether she would get fired for tossing one of the girls into the ice freezer. ‘Here it is. There’s Finlandia Lime at 46 bucks or Plain for 42. What will it be girls?’

‘The cheap one,’ said Tiny Skirt.

‘Having us a celebration are we?’ Roslyn said, bringing the bottle to the counter and ringing up the sale.

Toblerone Tits answered, ‘You can put it that way. We’re going to get juiced up then go to the RSL to see the wrestling.’

‘So, you’re wrestling fans?’

‘Yeah, it’s grouse. Best entertainment in this shit hole town I reckon. They’re real athletes…unlike you,’ said Tiny Skirt, giggling again, tapping her card and picking up the bottle.

As she got to the doorway, Toblerone Tits stopped and called out, ‘Enjoy your hot date, tonight thunder thighs.’

‘As if,’ added Tiny Skirt. ‘She’s just a sad sack. She’ll be sitting on the couch by herself watching Netflix and eating pizza.’

Roslyn curled her fist in anger. She considered running after them. Nah, she wouldn’t be able to catch them.

*  *  *

‘Shit!’

The water was still cold when Roslyn stepped into the shower. She turned the hot tap to full, the pipes rattling like an M-16. It didn’t make much difference. The hot water in her apartment block took an age to warm up and never lasted long. Roslyn was an expert at the two-minute lukewarm shower.

She stepped out and wrapped a half-damp towel around her. It was nearly impossible to get things dry in her apartment. Just one rainy day would bring out the mould. That and the cockroaches.

In the mirror she admired her red hair. It was the only good feature she’d inherited from her mother. The bad things, like her big saggy tits, she could have done without. Watermelons in socks her sister Holly called them. Scares the men off, she’d reckoned. It’s probably true — more than a mouthful and all that. Thank God for sports bras.

Roslyn sat on the sofa and turned on the TV. The phone rang. It was Holly.

‘Hi love, how ya doin?’ said Roslyn.

‘Alright, I suppose.’

‘How’s Andrea?’

There was a pause. ’Not so good. Doctor said it’s spreading.’

Roslyn’s heart sank. It was so bloody unfair, especially as Andrea’s condition appeared to have stabilised in the last few weeks. ‘Bummer.’

‘How’s the Gofundme?’

‘Not bad. Eighteen grand, maybe a little more.’ Roslyn knew it was still a drop in the ocean. Despite Roslyn tipping in most of her own savings, they needed at least another thirty thousand for the Andrea’s treatment in the United States.

Silence on the other end. Holly’s quavering voice said, ‘I fucking don’t know what to do…’

‘It’s gonna be alright love, I promise. Why don’t you put her on.’

There was a noise of the phone being passed over.

‘Hi Auntie Roz,’ said Andrea in that heartbreakingly cheery voice of hers.

Roslyn bit her lip hard and after a moment said, ‘Hi petal. I’ll tell you a joke about this lady with a great big fin growing out of her back…’

The punchline had Andrea laughing like a braying donkey. Her laughter turned to a fit of coughing and then came the sound of her mother comforting her.

‘Sorry about that,’ said Roslyn, when Holly came back on the phone.

‘That’s alright. They say laughter is the best medicine.’

‘Look babe, I’m promoting the Gofundme to the max. I’ve organised some flyers for tonight. Ed says there might be promoters from Melbourne there. If I do well, I might get a shot at a big city show. Maybe ten grand. It’s better than nothing, right?’

‘That’s for sure. I appreciate everything you’ve done, I really do. I’d better go and put the dinner on — say goodbye to Aunty Roz, darling.’

‘Bye Aunty,’ Andrea called out.

‘Bye sweetie,’ Roslyn said.

When she hung up she wept silently for a few moments. She hated lying to her sister. There’d be no promoters from Melbourne tonight. It would be like all the other times – sweat, bruises and a bunch of smartarse comments from drunken dickheads. Those girls were right. I really am a sad sack.

*  *  *

In the dingy confines of the RSL club’s dressing room Roslyn adjusted her homemade knee pads. She was proud of them. Predominantly black and covered with dozens of miniature red roses, they perfectly matched her costume. A few metres away, Barb was tying her blonde hair in a bun while listening to her inspirational metal music on headphones. Roslyn powdered her hands, laced up her boots and stretched her legs and torso.

‘Listen up girls,’ Ed said, barging into the dressing room.

‘You should knock,’ Barb replied, a scowl on her face.

‘No time for niceties. We’ve got a big program tonight. Sit down and listen carefully to the match plan.’

‘I’m all ears,’ said Roslyn, bending down and touching her toes.

‘When we get to the fifteen-minute mark, I’ll give the signal. Barb, you do the garbage can thing. Roslyn, you miraculously recover – then wham!’

‘Wham?’

‘Yes, you do the Climbing Rose.’

‘Are you kidding? I haven’t done the Climbing Rose for two years. Why the hell would I break that out now, I might kill her,’ said Roslyn, her nostrils flaring.

‘You owe us a duty of care,’ Barb said.

‘All I’m saying is you have to look good…just in case…’ he tapped his nose with his index finger.

‘In case what?’ asked Roslyn.

‘I think there might be some promoters up from Melbourne tonight.’

‘Sheesh. You always say that, Ed,’ said Barb, flicking him with her towel.

‘Come on girls, do this for me. I’ve got a good feeling about tonight. Five minutes and you’re on.’

‘Get out of here then. We’ve got some last-minute practice to do.’

Ed nodded and left to start his ring announcer duties. Barb looked at Roslyn with an eyebrow raised. ‘Please don’t break my neck, love,’ she said.

‘Hope not.’

They could hear Ed revving up the crowd. ‘Lay-deez and gentlemen, welcome to Marrawong RSL. Coming into the ring…’

For as long as Roslyn could remember, Barb had been a baddy. Barb enjoyed it. She liked nothing better than riling the crowd. Ed’s intro made her sound like she would eat your children.

When he got to ‘…Barb “The Bitch” Crabtreeeeeee…’ the boos were deafening.

Roslyn took out her phone and flicked through her photos. She stopped at the one of Andrea during her last visit to the children’s hospital She was hooked up to a bunch of blinking machines, yet still had that bloody happy smile. Holy fuck. Hopefully the flyers for the Gofundme being handed out would have some effect. There was a knock on the door. She kissed the photo and put the phone back in her bag. She put on her mask and left the dressing room.

Roslyn noticed the crowd was extra loud. Usually the auditorium was less than half full but tonight there was barely an empty seat. Something to do with the Christmas break she suspected.

Ed’s voice boomed over the PA: ‘Welcome to the ring, the three-time Eastern Victorian champion, four-time Mornington Peninsula Royal Rumble winner, the sassiest, brainiest redhead to ever grace the squared circle at Marrawong RSL. The one and only Roslyn Knight, The Night Rose!’

There was wild cheering and stomping of feet. The crowd chanted: ‘NIGHT-ROSE, NIGHT-ROSE, NIGHT-ROSE’. Roslyn felt that familiar swelling in her chest, a fire that made her feel invincible. Nobody could push her around here. She was the Night Rose. Don’t fuck with me.

Roslyn stepped into the ring, sparring and flexing her muscles. She pumped her fists at the crowd. In the front row was a middle-aged lady with a mohawk dressed in black leather. Surely, she was too old to look like that. But a few seats from her — Holy guacamole! There were two men in suits locked in conversation. Promoters from Melbourne? Was Ed not actually talking shit this time? It sent a shot of adrenaline through her. While she was visualising how the match would play out she was slapped across the chest by Barb’s forearm. The bell rang and the bout was on.

Roslyn staggered momentarily then squared up. Ducking a blow, she gripped Barb’s arm, swung her against the ropes and as Barb sprang back Roslyn flipped her over her shoulder. Barb landed on the canvas with a great thwack. The crowd cheered again.

As Barb got up on one knee, Roslyn caught her eye and glanced over at the two men in suits. Barb gave the briefest of nods in acknowledgement. Not that Barb was interested in promoters. With two grandchildren to mind and her role as president of the Marrawong Birdwatching Society, she treated wrestling as a good way to keep fit and a nice little side earner.

Right on cue, at the fifteen-minute mark, Ed waved his hand and Barb slapped Roslyn across the face. Roslyn swayed in the middle of the ring and was staggered by Barb’s flying dropkick. Barb climbed out of the ring, then came back holding one of the ultra-thin garbage conveniently placed there.

Roslyn stood in the middle of the ring rubbing her head. The crowd screamed, letting her know that her opponent was creeping up behind her. Barb smashed the bin across Roslyn’s back sending her to the canvas. From her prone position she glimpsed Barb hopping up onto the turnbuckle, kiss her hand and slap her left buttock before giving the crowd the middle finger with both hands. Roslyn tried not to laugh.

The crowd vented their fury, some of them flinging plastic cups towards the ring. But as Barb gloated and taunted them from the top rope, Roslyn lifted one hand from the canvas and slowly clenched her fist. The crowd roared.

By the time Roslyn made it to her feet the sound inside the auditorium was like a jet taking off. Barb turned around, and noticing her opponent standing there as if newly resurrected, froze in fear.

Roslyn attacked with a series of kicks and face slaps before ramming Barb’s head into the ring post. As Barb staggered theatrically for a few steps, Roslyn raised both arms in the air. The crowd went nuts. Roslyn heard one fan screech, ‘She’s gonna do it. She’s gonna do the Climbing Rose. I don’t bloody believe it.’

This was the moment that Roslyn loved. When the energy of the crowd was in sync with hers. It was why she loved this sport. No sitting on the couch eating pizza while watching Netflix for her. She was no sad sack after all.

Roslyn hauled Barb by the hair to the corner of the ring. She stepped up to the top rope, dragging the compliant Barb with her. Now she pushed Barb’s head between her knees and lifted her vertically with her head pointing downwards. It was a struggle to keep her upright but she wanted to play it out just a little longer. She’d reached that point, like when the roller coaster stops at the top of its climb before the precipitous drop, that truly sends the crowd wild.

Muscles straining, Roslyn revelled in the sight of the packed auditorium. She noticed two empty seats where the promoters had been. They were heading towards the exit. What the fuck? What are they doing? I’m going to give Ed hell when this match is over.

With her attention on the dwindling forms of the promoters, Roslyn lost her footing. She fell forward with Barb’s head and neck the only thing likely to break the fall. But Barb was not one to panic and instinctively hooked a leg around Roslyn’s waist. Understanding what was happening, Roslyn rolled her shoulder in the opposite direction. They crashed to the canvas, Roslyn avoiding landing with the full weight of her body on Barb.

Roslyn pinned Barb’s shoulder and whispered in her ear. ‘Are you okay?’

Barb gave her a wink. The referee counted to three and the bell rang.

Ed was on the PA: ‘And the winner of the bout is Marrawong’s favourite daughter, The Night Rose!’

Near the dressing room a knot of supporters were waiting for Roslyn. She’d never seen so many. Some of the young blokes asked for her autograph. She obliged, but her mind was so gloomy after seeing the promoters leave she could barely spell her own name.

‘Can you sign this?’ asked one young woman.

She handed Roslyn a marker pen and presented a poster that read: ‘The Night Rose is the bestest wrestler ever.’ It was Toblerone Tits. Next to her was Tiny Skirt.

‘I’m chuffed that you two girls are rooting for me,’ Roslyn said, scrawling on the poster so hard that the marker squeaked.

‘You’re our bloody hero,’ said Toblerone Tits.

Roslyn removed her mask. ‘Remember me?’

The two girls backed away like they’d seen a ghost. They mumbled apologies, taking their poster bearing the word ‘RESPECT’ in big letters with them.

Back in the dressing room Roslyn embraced Barb warmly. There was a knock on the dressing room door.

‘Who is it?’

‘It’s me, Ed. I’ve got someone who would like to meet you. Can we come in?’

‘Sure.’

Ed came in with the middle-aged woman with the mohawk. It was a tight squeeze in the little dressing room.

‘Hi Roslyn, I can call you Roslyn? My name’s Zoe.’ She spoke in a broad American accent. ‘Your energy, athletic skills and personality are off the charts. That Climbing Rose move was spectacular.’

‘Thanks,’ said Roslyn, warily shaking Zoe’s proffered hand.

‘I represent the USNWF and I’m offering you the chance to wrestle in the States for six months to show us what you’ve got. You’ll get a weekly salary and an advance. If you prove yourself we can talk about a multi-year deal.’

‘An advance? You can’t be serious?’ Rose said, wondering if she was in a dream. She looked from Ed to Barb who were both wearing the broadest grins she’d seen.

‘And,’ said Zoe, smiling and leaning against the mirror, ‘we’ll take care of your Gofundme for your niece.’

Rose could barely speak. Her whole body trembled. She gave Zo a hug. ‘Where do I sign?’

Barb screamed with joy. Ed spun Roslyn around in a little dance. A bottle of champagne was delivered to the dressing room. Ed filled their glasses.

‘Excuse me for one moment,’ Roslyn said, wiping a tear from her cheek. ‘I’ll be right back.’

She walked out into the empty auditorium and rang Holly.

‘Hi Roz, how’d you go tonight?’

‘Not too bad, babe. Not too bad at all You and Andrea better start packing your bags. We’re going to America.’

Photo by Geike Verniers on Unsplash