Page 4 of Pulse
Chapter 2
Ren
I blinked hard as several flashbulbs popped, lighting up the set in the corner of Beat.
A guy ran around with a light meter in his hand checking numbers and tilting fancy reflectors. Beat had been morphed into a photography studio for the afternoon and if it wasn’t for Josie, I would’ve cracked the shits within the first five minutes and walked.
Sponsorships and endorsements required promotional work on our behalf, but today was about us and Beat. Three fighters from the same studio making it big in the professional circuit was big news apparently. And with one of them being a woman, the media was lapping it up like it couldn’t get enough.
Dad was rubbing his hands together in glee, of course. The Golden Age of Beat was back and it wasn’t because of the beast, Ash Fuller, it was because of his long lost daughter. His abandoned daughter. I had the Twins, Seth and Josie, but it wasn’t quite the same. Dad was the only real family I had left and a small fucked up part of me wanted to please him. I had nothing else to do.
Grimacing as I watched Dean and Lincoln primping for the cameras, I shuffled nervously on the spot. Monica fluffed around like a bad smell, talking to the photographer and the makeup artists and Josie was discussing whatever it was she did with the journalist from the magazine.
Talk about a fish out of water. I felt like a bloody alien in my own home.
They’d dressed me and the Twins in the sponsor’s clothing and wrapped our hands like we were at a bout, instructing us that they wanted some action shots. The boys took to all of this like it was the most natural thing in the world and I was at least a little jealous…okay, so I was a lot jealous.
I stared at my reflection in the mirrors and couldn’t quite recognize myself. Josie appeared beside me as if she sensed my flight mode was activating and placed her hand on my shoulder.
“It’s all about image Ren,” she said. “You’re stunning, you know that? These photos are going to be amazing.”
I was finding out the hard way that I was allergic to the spotlight. A lifetime of obscurity had me scurrying for the shadows like an insect. The spotlight hurt my eyes, blinding all my senses.
“Ren?”
I glanced up at Josie. “Yeah?”
“This is what you want, isn’t it?” she asked, kneeling beside me.
“I want to fight,” I replied a little uncertainly.
“I know. You’ve got me to deal with this stuff, right? The occasional photo and interview is all you have to worry about. You just keep your thoughts on your training.”
Is this what success felt like? Overwhelming pressure to perform? Everyone was so sure I would qualify, but I found my care factor atsubzerotemperatures. I didn’t fight for fame and glory…I fought to stay numb and I fought to keep my anger at bay. What would these so called industry professionals say if I told them that?
I sighed as the makeup artist propped in front of me and began dabbing something on my face.
“Oh, stop sighing,” Josie said. I knew she was into all of this, I mean she was the epitome of afashionista, but it wasn’t my scene. I wore makeup, but only on special occasions. Apparently I’d been blessed with an even complexion.
I grudgingly let the makeup artist do her thing, sitting rigidly in the chair while the Twins fluffed around in front of the camera being all macho. Josie floated towards them like a moth to a flame, or a horny PR manger to a set of hunky twins, and I was left alone.
“Hi Mum.”
Despite the alarms going off in my brain, I glanced up and saw Monica hugging an older woman. A woman who looked a lot like her.
Realizing the makeup artist had finished doing her thing, I slid out of the chair and tried to hide, but I wasn’t quick enough.
“Renee?”
I sighed heavily and glanced over my shoulder. It couldn’t be anyone else and I felt the urge to vomit rising. Sharon Miller had finally deigned to make an appearance after a year of absence. I owed my dad’s wife nothing, but the fact that she was here meant she wanted something from me. When it came to the new franchise, it couldn’t be anything good. Past experience had proved that as a fact.
“Ren,” I said, looking Sharon up and down. “Nobody calls me Renee. Not even people I don’t like.”
