EPISODE 14 PEACOCKING
Now that NXT was touring the country, as the “third brand” behind Raw and SmackDown, Sasha and I were having our match outside the borders of Florida.
We had arrived in Pittsburgh and were having lunch at the hotel before the show when one of the referees came running up to us.
“Did you hear?” he asked.
“Hear what?” I said.
“Dusty died.”
It was like the air had been sucked out of the building. Everyone became silent, unsure of how to react or how to process it. We didn’t have any indication he wasn’t doing well. He had been shuffling around the school every day like normal, in his uniform of boots and blue jeans, teaching the kids and telling jokes. Maybe he had lost a few pounds, but it’s the wrestling business; everyone’s weight fluctuates.
He was the soul of the Performance Center, and without him there would be a little less magic.
His last words to me were “Shut up, Becky” as I was following him around, pestering him about different ideas I had. Truthfully, I couldn’t imagine better last words.
He was the one who believed in me. The one who saw something in me before anyone else did, myself included.
Even his last tweet was: “Lynch, @NXT Star Time she be great, top 5 of the last 5 years! Max #1.”
I still didn’t have as much belief in myself, but I hoped one day I could prove him right.
That night, we all vowed to put on a show that Dusty would have been proud of. We dried our faces, pulled back our shoulders, and gave the people of Pittsburgh their money’s worth.
Sasha and I went out and did our thing, beating the hell out of each other in a championship match with her ultimately winning. But as I began to walk up the ramp after the match, my leg seized up and I began to limp. It was that damn hip flexor again—the one that had plagued me at the beginning of my NXT journey.
Sasha and Bayley got a wheelchair to push me around in and tucked me into bed like I was their little baby.
It was going to be at least six weeks before I could get back in the ring. And here I was after finally gaining momentum.
Sitting at home with nothing but my thoughts, I was becoming increasingly anxious, wondering if I had lost my spot.
However, simultaneously, there was an outcry from the online audience about the treatment of the women on Raw and SmackDown. They saw what we could do in NXT when given stories and time. While on the main roster, Nikki Bella and Paige, two huge female stars, had a match that was relegated to just thirty seconds.
The audience let their voices be heard by starting a hashtag: #GiveDivasAChance. It trended for three days straight and forced the higher-ups and decision-makers to start thinking about, well, giving “divas” a chance.
With all my newfound free time, I continuously sent pitches for the Four Horsewomen to be called up to the main roster. But it seemed like the creative team had something brewing for us anyway. Rumors of invasion angles were circulating in the PC and on the internet, but it never seemed to be all four of us; it was either three out of four or two out of four. I was convinced my name wasn’t going to be mentioned now that I was hurt, and the other three had been there longer and were seen as bigger prospects than me anyway.
To take my mind off of the guessing and wondering, I decided to take a boat tour around a local lake in Orlando with a friend of mine.
As we took our nautical adventure on this gorgeous day, I was shocked to discover that Orlando was more than just strip malls and theme parks as our guide regaled us with the substantial history of the area.
Most impressively, he explained as we drifted by a gorgeous mansion where the original owner had purchased three hundred peacocks to protect his house and wife while he was gone! He could have bought a guard dog, an Alsatian; a wolf; a tiger, but no, he went for three hundred peacocks. Genius. I leaned over to my friend and whispered, “That’s what I’m going to buy when I get that main roster money! Peacocks!”I
Not a minute after I uttered those words, a “203” number popped up on my phone, 203 being the area code for Connecticut, the home base of WWE. Whenever I got a call from an unknown 203 number, something big was happening.
I answered the call with an apprehensive “Hello?”
My friend, seeing the suspicious look on my face, mouthed, What’s going on? as I gestured for them to hold on a damn second.
A familiar voice came on the phone.
“Hi, Rebecca, it’s Mark Carrano, from Talent Relations. I’m calling because you’re needed on the road this weekend. I’m not saying you’re debuting. They’re still not certain on the creative, but they’d like you to be in Atlanta for Monday.”
I was smiling like a lunatic as I got off the phone.
“Well?” my friend asked.
“It’s happening!!!” I squealed.
- I. Spoiler: As I write this, it has been eight years, and I am yet to acquire a single peacock.