09-13-2019, 10:03 PM
September 4, 2019
Notre Dame Church
Basement
“Hello, my name is Desiree and I am an alcoholic.”
Desiree Devna, clad in an oversized grey sweater draping off one shoulder and black yoga pants, rises from her chair in the circle. She slides her hands into her sweater pockets, still a bit nervous about where she is. But she is among like-minded individuals.
“Hi Desiree,” the group responds in unison.
“It has been five years, six months, and 18 days since my last drink,” she says, prompting a smattering of applause from the crowd. She smiles half-heartedly. Since leaving Beverly Hills, she had found it hard to assimilate into her new surroundings, a requirement for her EMERGE employment. And with a pending upheaval – touring! – she found herself starting to crack at the foundation.
The circle’s leader, easily identified by his pressed white shirt buttoned right to the collar, encased in the sports coat and jeans combo of a college professor asking you to address him by his first name, sits forward, bible in his hands. “And what brings you into our circle, Desiree.”
She shrugs her shoulders. “I guess…” she begins, trailing off as she searches for the words. Still, the crowd around her is captivated by her. It’s not just her story they’re interested in, something Desiree is used to in Californian circles. She looks around and doesn’t actually SEE anyone resembling her – with her youth, her beauty. She sees people who hit rock bottom and looked like it. “I guess I’m struggling a bit to maintain sobriety.”
“Yes,” the group leader interjects. “It’s always important to be aware of the work it takes to stay sober. Tell us about your journey…”
“It began Valentines Day 2014,” she begins…
February 14, 2014
Los Angeles, California
I was getting ready to go out for Valentine’s Day. I… I was sure that my boyfriend was going to propose that night, so I got my best looking outfit on, and spent the day out. I went to a spa and got dolled up. This spa… they had a champagne service while I was getting pampered, and what was I supposed to do? Say no? So they took their time doing my hair and my make-up. I received a five-star pedicure and manicure, all the while having some bubbly. I wasn’t ready for the bombshell that I was going to see when I exited…
“What the FUCK!?”
When I stumbled out of the spa, I walked into him… him and his whore. Or, I guess I was the whore. See, I didn’t know that he was actually already engaged to someone all the while he was with me. And I… I knew he was with me. I knew it… and he was denying me…
“Who the hell are you?”
When he said those words to me, they cut. I had let him into my home, shared my bed. For two years he told me he loved me, and now he was telling me he didn’t know who I was?
“Baby, who is this?”
“I don’t know… just some drunk slut.”
It was there that I reached out and slapped him across the face. “Just some drunk slut”… I spent the day getting ready for him… for plans that he made. And now I was “just some drunk slut” to him. I felt… worthless. I felt useless. The two of them walked away, probably into some happily fucking every after, and I was paralyzed. I couldn’t express my anger. I couldn’t express my grief. I couldn’t express a fucking thing. I was just… empty. I leaned back against the wall and just slid there. It was hell… I was in hell, but I was dressed up still. How could I let that go to waste, right? So I went to the club…
“What’re you drinking, Miss?”
“What have you got?”
I got attention that night. Do you know how many men in LA go out trolling for an easy lay on Valentine’s Day? They go to anywhere a single, depressed woman might go. And I must have had a fucking beacon on because they were all over me. I don’t think I paid for a drink after leaving the spa… everyone wanted to take a shot at me and with me. But at the end of the day, I was still too heartbroken to comment to a revenge fuck.
“What’s your fucking problem, bitch? I buy you all these drinks and you can’t even give me the time of day?”
I heard that a lot, too. But none of it really phased me. So I stumbled out of the club alone… carrying my shoes because the dancing hurt my feet. All of my prep work at the spa earlier in the day was wasted… my hair was a mess, my makeup had run off between the tears and sweat of the club. All I wanted was to curl up somewhere alone and die.
So I did.
I don’t know how I got into the neighborhood I found. It seemed to be very gated from my recollection, but I guess with the way I had dressed, someone must have thought I lived there? It was in there that I first ran into Taylor Chase… you probably heard of her. She was… she was a picture of radiant beauty and absolute charity. As I stumbled before her in the sunlight… it was Saturday morning by this point… she looked at me not with pity or scorn, but with sympathy. She called me an ambulance and… um… I don’t know if she paid the bill or not, but I’ve never been invoiced for that visit. I was put into alcohol treatment and signed up for AA… an “anonymous benefactor”. But I know… I just know who it was. I needed to hit rock bottom at the feet of a generous, charitable person to begin to rebuild and regain my confidence.
PRESENT DAY
“And that’s how Taylor Chase saved my life,” Desiree says, finishing her story. The group in Alcoholics Anonymous marvels at the story as Desiree wipes tears from her eyes. The leader offers her a handkerchief, which she uses to dab the tears away, blotting it before her make-up runs. “I’ve been sober since that day. I got back into the gym and worked on my fitness in hopes of following in Taylor’s footsteps. I… uh… I work as a professional wrestler for EMERGE now, and we’re about to start touring around. I’m afraid the upheaval will make me want to drink again.”
“Well, don’t worry, Desiree,” said the group leader, his tone a bit flatter now. “We have steps that can help you with the temptations you may face on the road.”
Desiree nods, mouthing “Thank you” before sitting back onto her chair, where she remained for the rest of the meeting, listening to tales from other alcoholics, people who had truly hit their limit before coming in. One had been involved in a car crash that killed a family. Another soiled himself at his daughter’s wedding because he was so drunk. The traumas she heard about… they hit hard. But she listened anyway, because the people who were describing them listened to her. The meeting ran through the rest of it’s time, with Desiree remaining in place.
After the meeting, she stayed behind to help stack chairs away. It was then that the leader of the group approached her.
“You know, uh…” he began nervously. “That was quite the story you had back there.”
Desiree smiles shyly, pushing strands of her long brown hair out of her face.
“Thanks, I guess,” she responds. She never knew how to respond to someone complimenting her tragic tale and road to sobriety.
“I’m just wondering,” he begins, stepping forward and growing increasingly stern in his voice. “What part of the story actually happened?”
“I don’t understand,” Desiree responds, stunned by the apparent implication that she was less than truthful in her statement. Nervous, her breathing begins to quicken.
“I’ve been leading these groups for 20 years now, Desiree,” he says. “I’ve heard all sorts of stories like yours. Do you know how many of those stories have ended up being big lies made to… I don’t know… stand out in a meeting like this, or pass blame for the storyteller’s own failings onto some other imagined person? Every last one of them,”
“I’m not lying,” Desiree says, shaking her head but attempting to convince herself more than the leader.
“So what was it?” he asked, moving closer to her. “You had a one-night-stand with a man and read too much into it?”
“No.”
“Or maybe you were just stalking him, and your obsession with Taylor Chase came from that.”
“No!”
“Maybe it was Taylor herself you were talking and this whole concoction is a cleverly concocted cover.”
“NO!”
Desiree strikes out, knocking the leader back against the wall. She staggers backwards, moving back against the wall as he falls to the ground unconscious. She looks over him. Thinking on her feet, she pulls out a cell phone and quickly dialed it.
“Hello? Hi! I’m at Notre Dame Church and I…” she says, looking down at the group leader as he groans, struggling to come to. “I was attacked! I swung and took him down, but I need someone to take him away! Please help!”
She hangs up the phone, looking down at the group leader before smiling, licking her lips. She rummages through the church’s lost and found section, finding a scarf, which she uses to tie him to a nearby table. Slinking back against the wall, she smiles again, showing satisfaction in her handiwork. She walks towards the door before looking back…
“You shouldn’t have crossed me,” Desiree says. “I studied the best.”
She strides out of the basement as the sound of sirens and police lights illuminate the scene…
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Do you know what I believe in? It’s not fate or destiny or the hand of God moving the chess pieces as He sees fate.
I believe that the path to greatness has already been forged for us… that our roads to the top are set out before us and all we have to do is follow suit. And I have been studying the road of the greatest professional wrestling of our day.
This is a woman who would not take “No” for an answer. This is a woman who forced the glass ceiling to open and pushed through. She became World Champion… not for anyone else’s benefit, but because that’s what she wanted.
I have followed her career from afar… and now I’m ready to follow her career path. When you see me in the ring competing for a SPIRIT Championship opportunity, you can look at the second coming… but I wouldn’t be so arrogant. I know who I am. I know what I’m worth.
You will to. Just wait and see... it’s my time to fly.”
Notre Dame Church
Basement
“Hello, my name is Desiree and I am an alcoholic.”
Desiree Devna, clad in an oversized grey sweater draping off one shoulder and black yoga pants, rises from her chair in the circle. She slides her hands into her sweater pockets, still a bit nervous about where she is. But she is among like-minded individuals.
“Hi Desiree,” the group responds in unison.
“It has been five years, six months, and 18 days since my last drink,” she says, prompting a smattering of applause from the crowd. She smiles half-heartedly. Since leaving Beverly Hills, she had found it hard to assimilate into her new surroundings, a requirement for her EMERGE employment. And with a pending upheaval – touring! – she found herself starting to crack at the foundation.
The circle’s leader, easily identified by his pressed white shirt buttoned right to the collar, encased in the sports coat and jeans combo of a college professor asking you to address him by his first name, sits forward, bible in his hands. “And what brings you into our circle, Desiree.”
She shrugs her shoulders. “I guess…” she begins, trailing off as she searches for the words. Still, the crowd around her is captivated by her. It’s not just her story they’re interested in, something Desiree is used to in Californian circles. She looks around and doesn’t actually SEE anyone resembling her – with her youth, her beauty. She sees people who hit rock bottom and looked like it. “I guess I’m struggling a bit to maintain sobriety.”
“Yes,” the group leader interjects. “It’s always important to be aware of the work it takes to stay sober. Tell us about your journey…”
“It began Valentines Day 2014,” she begins…
February 14, 2014
Los Angeles, California
I was getting ready to go out for Valentine’s Day. I… I was sure that my boyfriend was going to propose that night, so I got my best looking outfit on, and spent the day out. I went to a spa and got dolled up. This spa… they had a champagne service while I was getting pampered, and what was I supposed to do? Say no? So they took their time doing my hair and my make-up. I received a five-star pedicure and manicure, all the while having some bubbly. I wasn’t ready for the bombshell that I was going to see when I exited…
“What the FUCK!?”
When I stumbled out of the spa, I walked into him… him and his whore. Or, I guess I was the whore. See, I didn’t know that he was actually already engaged to someone all the while he was with me. And I… I knew he was with me. I knew it… and he was denying me…
“Who the hell are you?”
When he said those words to me, they cut. I had let him into my home, shared my bed. For two years he told me he loved me, and now he was telling me he didn’t know who I was?
“Baby, who is this?”
“I don’t know… just some drunk slut.”
It was there that I reached out and slapped him across the face. “Just some drunk slut”… I spent the day getting ready for him… for plans that he made. And now I was “just some drunk slut” to him. I felt… worthless. I felt useless. The two of them walked away, probably into some happily fucking every after, and I was paralyzed. I couldn’t express my anger. I couldn’t express my grief. I couldn’t express a fucking thing. I was just… empty. I leaned back against the wall and just slid there. It was hell… I was in hell, but I was dressed up still. How could I let that go to waste, right? So I went to the club…
“What’re you drinking, Miss?”
“What have you got?”
I got attention that night. Do you know how many men in LA go out trolling for an easy lay on Valentine’s Day? They go to anywhere a single, depressed woman might go. And I must have had a fucking beacon on because they were all over me. I don’t think I paid for a drink after leaving the spa… everyone wanted to take a shot at me and with me. But at the end of the day, I was still too heartbroken to comment to a revenge fuck.
“What’s your fucking problem, bitch? I buy you all these drinks and you can’t even give me the time of day?”
I heard that a lot, too. But none of it really phased me. So I stumbled out of the club alone… carrying my shoes because the dancing hurt my feet. All of my prep work at the spa earlier in the day was wasted… my hair was a mess, my makeup had run off between the tears and sweat of the club. All I wanted was to curl up somewhere alone and die.
So I did.
I don’t know how I got into the neighborhood I found. It seemed to be very gated from my recollection, but I guess with the way I had dressed, someone must have thought I lived there? It was in there that I first ran into Taylor Chase… you probably heard of her. She was… she was a picture of radiant beauty and absolute charity. As I stumbled before her in the sunlight… it was Saturday morning by this point… she looked at me not with pity or scorn, but with sympathy. She called me an ambulance and… um… I don’t know if she paid the bill or not, but I’ve never been invoiced for that visit. I was put into alcohol treatment and signed up for AA… an “anonymous benefactor”. But I know… I just know who it was. I needed to hit rock bottom at the feet of a generous, charitable person to begin to rebuild and regain my confidence.
PRESENT DAY
“And that’s how Taylor Chase saved my life,” Desiree says, finishing her story. The group in Alcoholics Anonymous marvels at the story as Desiree wipes tears from her eyes. The leader offers her a handkerchief, which she uses to dab the tears away, blotting it before her make-up runs. “I’ve been sober since that day. I got back into the gym and worked on my fitness in hopes of following in Taylor’s footsteps. I… uh… I work as a professional wrestler for EMERGE now, and we’re about to start touring around. I’m afraid the upheaval will make me want to drink again.”
“Well, don’t worry, Desiree,” said the group leader, his tone a bit flatter now. “We have steps that can help you with the temptations you may face on the road.”
Desiree nods, mouthing “Thank you” before sitting back onto her chair, where she remained for the rest of the meeting, listening to tales from other alcoholics, people who had truly hit their limit before coming in. One had been involved in a car crash that killed a family. Another soiled himself at his daughter’s wedding because he was so drunk. The traumas she heard about… they hit hard. But she listened anyway, because the people who were describing them listened to her. The meeting ran through the rest of it’s time, with Desiree remaining in place.
After the meeting, she stayed behind to help stack chairs away. It was then that the leader of the group approached her.
“You know, uh…” he began nervously. “That was quite the story you had back there.”
Desiree smiles shyly, pushing strands of her long brown hair out of her face.
“Thanks, I guess,” she responds. She never knew how to respond to someone complimenting her tragic tale and road to sobriety.
“I’m just wondering,” he begins, stepping forward and growing increasingly stern in his voice. “What part of the story actually happened?”
“I don’t understand,” Desiree responds, stunned by the apparent implication that she was less than truthful in her statement. Nervous, her breathing begins to quicken.
“I’ve been leading these groups for 20 years now, Desiree,” he says. “I’ve heard all sorts of stories like yours. Do you know how many of those stories have ended up being big lies made to… I don’t know… stand out in a meeting like this, or pass blame for the storyteller’s own failings onto some other imagined person? Every last one of them,”
“I’m not lying,” Desiree says, shaking her head but attempting to convince herself more than the leader.
“So what was it?” he asked, moving closer to her. “You had a one-night-stand with a man and read too much into it?”
“No.”
“Or maybe you were just stalking him, and your obsession with Taylor Chase came from that.”
“No!”
“Maybe it was Taylor herself you were talking and this whole concoction is a cleverly concocted cover.”
“NO!”
Desiree strikes out, knocking the leader back against the wall. She staggers backwards, moving back against the wall as he falls to the ground unconscious. She looks over him. Thinking on her feet, she pulls out a cell phone and quickly dialed it.
“Hello? Hi! I’m at Notre Dame Church and I…” she says, looking down at the group leader as he groans, struggling to come to. “I was attacked! I swung and took him down, but I need someone to take him away! Please help!”
She hangs up the phone, looking down at the group leader before smiling, licking her lips. She rummages through the church’s lost and found section, finding a scarf, which she uses to tie him to a nearby table. Slinking back against the wall, she smiles again, showing satisfaction in her handiwork. She walks towards the door before looking back…
“You shouldn’t have crossed me,” Desiree says. “I studied the best.”
She strides out of the basement as the sound of sirens and police lights illuminate the scene…
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Do you know what I believe in? It’s not fate or destiny or the hand of God moving the chess pieces as He sees fate.
I believe that the path to greatness has already been forged for us… that our roads to the top are set out before us and all we have to do is follow suit. And I have been studying the road of the greatest professional wrestling of our day.
This is a woman who would not take “No” for an answer. This is a woman who forced the glass ceiling to open and pushed through. She became World Champion… not for anyone else’s benefit, but because that’s what she wanted.
I have followed her career from afar… and now I’m ready to follow her career path. When you see me in the ring competing for a SPIRIT Championship opportunity, you can look at the second coming… but I wouldn’t be so arrogant. I know who I am. I know what I’m worth.
You will to. Just wait and see... it’s my time to fly.”