Chapter 2: Don’t Talk About Fight Club

It wasn’t lost on Kevin or Rachel that the greetings they received from Trinity were thinly veiled ‘necessities’ to be dispensed with quickly so that she could get to the main attraction. She only had eyes for the toddler standing up in her pen, bouncing on uncertain legs as she recognized her ‘big sister’.

“Hi Dizzy girl!” she cooed excitedly as she sprinted over to the child and whisked her out of her prison. “How’s my baby monster doing?” Trinity kissed the tot’s smiling cheeks adoringly and danced about the room with her. “I’ve missed you!” When she bent over to ‘dip’ the child, she winced on the way back up. “Ow! Let’s not do that anymore,” she muttered, still smiling as she whirled and found both of the adults regarding her with knowing looks.

“What?” she asked indignantly as she began sniffing the air. Her eyes lit up, “Is that shaking beef?” she asked excitedly, turning towards the kitchen. She kicked off her shoes, sending them sailing towards the wall as she went into the other room to investigate. Rachel sighed and followed her while her husband went and put the shoes next to the door where they belonged. When he rejoined them in the kitchen, he found the girl lifting lids on the stove and humming appreciatively. She loved Rachel’s cooking—especially when she went ‘native’ and prepared Vietnamese cuisine. When she turned back to them, she was sneaking a small glob of white rice into Desiree’s mouth.

“Wow!” she said as she regarded her ‘mom’ closely. Rachel was entering the third trimester of her second pregnancy and she was starting to show. She gave her ‘daughter’ a look that dared her to remark on her belly. “Jess said she cut all your hair off but it looks amazing!”

Kevin snorted and got a glare for it.

“I’m serious, mom! You look good!” Trinity schmoozed as she stepped forward holding her sister in a hip carry.

“No, I don’t,” Rachel groused. “I’m short, fat and bloated.” The tragedy in her voice was spoiled by her thick Texas drawl. It was the last thing you’d expect to hear upon first meeting the small Asian beauty.

Trinity huffed and sighed. “No!” she replied with a touch too much dismissal. “You don’t look...” she paused for effect, “bloated at all!” She had an amused gleam in her eye, knowing she was safe from physical assault so long as she held the baby.

“Oh, you little...” she growled back.

“Language!” Kevin and Trinity said at the same time with grins.

“How is Carter Junior doing, anyway?” It was not common knowledge that Rachel was carrying the baby of Trinity’s foster father.

An hour later the three of them were gathered around the table after eating the fine dinner. Rachel was drinking a glass of wine which she insisted her OB said was okay now, as long as she didn’t overdo it. Trinity and Kevin drank coffee. They were discussing Rachel’s new job as acting Lieutenant governor. Trinity was proud as punch.

“I just can’t get over how awesome you are at it!” she said. “I mean everyone is talking about how cool it is for two strong women to be in charge of things.”

Rachel just rolled her eyes. Other than endless meetings and an occasional press briefing she was essentially invisible, despite the interest of the media in her every movement. “I am hardly in charge of anything,” she responded. “More like a small voice of reason in Christine’s ear to keep her from tripping over her tongue.”

“Small voice?” Trinity could never resist an opening like that. “Woman, you are anything but small. On TV you are larger than life,” she argued, “for a hobbit.” She was quietly replaying the memory of Rachel’s acceptance speech — when they had to put a crate in front of the podium so that she didn’t have to peek over the top at the reporters and constituents.

“Alright that’s about enough pivoting and diversion,” Rachel stated abruptly. The temperature in the room got several degrees colder. “Why haven’t you stopped this bullshit fighting?”

Trinity set her cup down like it was a sleeping spider. “Uh, momma look. It’s not like we are fighting for real,” she replied meekly. “It’s just sparring and training...”

“I’m not talking about you getting your butt kicked by those roid monsters at that Brazilian jo-jo dojo, thingy!” she retorted. “I know you have been doing that underground cage-fighting club shit!”

Trinity blew her bangs back from her face. “I’m not cage-fighting, jeez! And there’s no ‘fight club’...” she added defensively. “I couldn’t talk about it if there was,” she added under her breath coyly, earning a smile from Kevin.

“I see,” Rachel said calmly — too calmly. “Honey? Would you please bring me your tablet?”

Kevin pressed his lips together and stepped away from the table.

‘Ruh roh, Relroy.’

When he returned Rachel politely took it and tapped on it a few times with her short nails. Then she laid it on the table and slid it across towards the young woman.

Trinity grimaced when she saw the action shot of her getting punched in the face by Roberta Paxson. The picture was almost two weeks old and the shiner she sported from that blow was why she hadn’t been around to visit them recently. The ropes that lined the ring were clearly defined in the background as well as the dozens of spectators captured even further back.

“Go ahead,” Rachel stated smugly. “Spin your way out of that one.”

“Okay look!” Trinity got up from her chair and bounced nervously on the balls of her feet. “First, that was a cheap shot that she got in right after the bell!” she grumbled. “And I won that match!” she added smugly.

“Barely,” Kevin added under his breath, earning a glare from them both.

“I wanna know who took that picture!” Trinity demanded. “Cameras aren’t allowed in ‘junior amateur league’.”

“That’s because there is NO junior amateur league!” Rachel snapped. “You aren’t supposed to be fighting at all!”

“Says who?” she asked defensively.

“Say’s me!” Rachel retorted, and then she calmed instantly. “Honey, I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Trinity scoffed. “Hurt? Me?”

“Lift your shirt,” the tiny Asian woman challenged. “Would you like to see the summary of your visit to the ER?”

Trinity looked outraged, “What? How did you...?” She stamped her foot. “That’s not fair! I have Hippo rights! I could ... I,”

“It’s called HIPAA dear,” Rachel interrupted calmly and sipped her wine. “And I don’t give a fat flying fuzzy fig about your ‘rights’ when you go out and engage in this stupid ridiculous nonsense.” Her voice became chilly and her drawl had a menacing quality. “What do you think the media would make of this if it ever got out? The LT. Governor’s adopted daughter engaging in ... mindless melee?”

Trinity bit her lip. ‘Mindless Melee’ had a nice ring to it. “Whatever, I’m done with that anyways,” she pouted. “I’m done with the JAL.”

“But not cage fighting.”

‘God! Why did she have to be so ... ugh!’ she grunted. “It’s not ‘cage fighting’ mom! There is no cage! That’s only in the movies! It would be cool, but...”

“Why are you putting on weight?” Rachel asked pointedly.

‘Jeez! Does she see EVERYTHING?’ Trinity looked offended and grabbed her butt. “What? You think I’m getting fat?”

“Nice try dear, but I’m not stupid.”

“I never...” she stammered. This was not going well at all.

“Once you get to 135 pounds you can qualify for women’s lightweight class.”

Trinity glared at Kevin who regarded his coffee cup quietly.

“You want to fight that dervish, Carmen ‘Crippler’ Gutierez, don’t you?”

‘Fuck!’ Now she knew Rachel had been talking to Kevin. Not that Kevin was privy to her underground activities ... but he was a huge MMA fan.

He spoke up before she could reply, “She is a professional fighter Trin,” he said with concern. “She is very dangerous.”

Trinity just rolled her eyes and scoffed.

“Why do you do this baby?” Rachel dropped her accent and went with the Vietnamese singsong lilt. “You don’t need the money. Do you need more money?”

Another scoff, “No,” she grumbled. She could tell she was losing this battle and looked around for her shoes. The best strategy when you find yourself in an argument with Rachel — run like hell!

“Then why?” she asked in her most fragile Asian voice.

“The belt,” Kevin answered for her.

“Man, it is late and I have got to get some sleep!” Trinity gasped as she slipped on her shoes and gave each of them a hug and kiss. “Thanks for the dinner. Love you both!” She spun out the door shutting it gently behind her.

Rachel sighed and leaned against her loving husband. “She’s gonna fight her, isn’t she?”

“Yup,” he replied softly as he kissed her head.

“Do you think she will win?”

He shook his head regretfully. “Not likely.”

With only four days left in the Semester, Trinity had to spend all her free time cramming for her finals. She had three exams: Business Statistics, CALC II, and Macro Economics. Welding and Fabrication were winding down now that most of the certs were done. Today there were a handful of students who would be testing in TIG and flux-core — but Brian could handle those without her. The written exams for basic CAD and AutoTech I & II would be happening the following day and Thursday. Friday was a free day for those few who had one last chance to cert or couldn’t fit it into their schedules before then. She would be there until the last student left and then spend the afternoon cleaning the shops thoroughly including the exhaust system and recycle bins which had to be loaded up and hauled away.

The morning after her less-than-pleasant dinner, Trinity parked at the back 40 and headed into the quad. Today she wore a medium-length skirt that fell to her knees and a tank top with a denim coat. As she strode along the yellow brick road, she noticed the three amigos hunched together off to the side. A frown crossed her face and she angrily turned and headed straight for them. Carson noticed her first and whispered something to Ricky and their other taller skinnier friend. His name escaped her — Jack or Jackwad, or something. He kind of reminded her of a pimply-faced version of Adam Driver as Kylo Ren. All three of them scowled at her as she approached.

“Well, looky here,” she smirked. “The losers of Loserville.”

“What do you want, bitch?” ‘Kylo’ snarled as he stood over her.

“What’s with the lame trench coats?” she asked pointedly. “Y’all aren’t planning another ‘Columbine’ are you?”

The heavy silence as they nervously glanced back at each other, sent a chill down her spine. She knew deep down, that was exactly what they were planning. She backed up and they saw it as a sign of cowering.

“I really hope you’re smarter than that,” she added in a voice heavy with sarcasm. “I’d hate to have to put any of you down — permanently.”

As a unit, they turned and sauntered away from her, toward the parking lot, glancing back at her over their shoulders.

Fifteen minutes later she was in the Student Admissions Office speaking to the Registrar’s Office secretary.

“I need to speak to Mr. Bell,” she told the elderly lady urgently. “Right now!”

“Young lady, the Dean of Admissions is very busy. What is this in regards to?”

“A possible school shooting!” Trinity snapped back causing the woman to gasp and leap from her chair.

“What?” she screeched as the color left her face.

“Not right now, woman!” she snarled. “Just get the Administrator on the phone. I need to talk with him.”

Several minutes later she was standing before Dr. Emmett Bell’s desk explaining her interaction with the three troubled students earlier. He leaned back in his chair holding his pen between two fingers as he regarded her disdainfully.

“I see,” he mused disinterestedly. “And what pray tell makes you think they are planning to shoot up the campus?” he asked.

She gaped at him with barely controlled fury. Ever since she got in the fight with her ex-Riley, and his three stooges, over a year ago — he had had it out for her. He put up several obstacles trying to hinder her admission until the Sinclair-Davis Foundation made a sizeable donation to the school.

“Because I asked them,” she retorted.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise at her brazen response. “What did you ask them?”

“I asked them if they were planning another ‘Columbine’.” Her exasperation was as clear as her realization that this conversation would get her nowhere.

“And...?” he prompted.

“And,” she replied rudely, “they DIDN’T say ‘no’!”

“I see,” he repeated.

“No,” she snapped shifting the strap on her sling bag and turning towards the office door. “You do not ‘see’.”

“Now just one minute, young lady,” he stated angrily. “We are not done here...”

“Yes, we are,” she replied over her shoulder as she reached for the doorknob. “If you think this is all a joke and don’t want to take it seriously, fine!” She looked back at him as she opened the door. “But just know that if and when it does happen. I will make sure the media learns that I tried to warn you.”

She was running late for her STATs class so she skipped her coffee and raced to the Math and Science building where she got to her desk just as the teacher shut and locked the door. He was a stickler for punctuality and anyone else, showing up would have to beg him for a makeup exam. You did NOT want to take one of his makeup tests!

She was frustrated and distracted during the 90-minute exam. By the time she had finished, she was certain that she had failed it. Grabbing her bag, she turned in the test and walked across the Quad to the Fab shop where she found most of the students leaving for the day after their written exams. Only half a dozen remained in the Welding area where they were either preparing their coupons or actively testing. Brian Applegate was standing next to the door to the hallway across from his office. He nodded to her as she stood beside him.

“So, how did it go with Brenda?” she asked quietly as they watched over the nearly empty shop.

“Not good I’m afraid,” he mumbled sadly. “I think she’s moving out. At least ... that’s what she said she was gonna do!”

“Did you fuck her brains out?”

He sighed. “Felt more like I raped her if you were to judge by her response,” he muttered, embarrassed that he was sharing his intimate life with his aide. “I wasn’t even that rough.”

“Good,” Trinity quipped as she turned to fetch her hood. “Like I told you. You deserve better than her.”

It probably looked silly to see a girl in a skirt wearing old leather boots and a well-worn Iron Man welding hood as she wandered around the various booths to check on the students and offer pointers. An hour later she stepped into the office to find him sitting behind the old desk looking glum. She hung up her hood and grabbed the ring of keys.

“I’m going to clean up and shut everything down,” she told him as she stood in the doorway. “If you are still here when I get back, you are going to bend me over that desk and pound me into the stone age.” She met his astonished eyes with a wink and stepped out to complete her work. It took her thirty minutes and — after parking the forklift and locking up, she flipped off the breakers, plunging the large shop into darkness. Returning to the office, she smiled when she saw the lights still on. Her panties were damp with anticipation as she stepped inside and locked the door behind her.