The Fighter and the Baroness: A Modern-Day Fairy Tale Read online

  “Thank you, son,” she says. “That is thoughtful of you.”

  Our backyard has overgrown hedges that shield us from the neighbors. Lush and green and thick, they were my hideout, holding my fantasy ninja strongholds when I was little.

  I pour wine for the two of us, another sign that the occasion is special. Like her fighter background requires, Maiko’s a master at hiding, but after seventeen years under her roof, I’m tuned in to her moods. Now my mother is worried.

  I lift my small glass, clinking it with hers. I haven’t had a sip of alcohol in over a year, the reason why the brown of her irises now merges with the black of her pupils. I hate to see her this scared.

  “You’re not losing me,” I begin. She doesn’t respond. She just nods like she believes me. The glint of fear in her eyes kills me.

  “Listen, Mom.” I never call her that. “I need real fighting. I need to be destroyed by merciless pros, and since Dad… left, the flow of warriors passing through our gym has slowed.”

  It’s an understatement. For the last two months, it’s been our backyard ring, my mother, and I. She has closed the dojo, leaving our last sensei to find another job.

  I struggle against the guilt of making her unhappy, but what else can I do? I need to keep my end of the bargain. My mother, my father, and I, we’ve worked for my success in the ring ever since they adopted me, and there’s no way I’m deserting our dream.

  Maiko straightens, displaying a percentage of the steel will my parents held. Together, they were power. She alone is less than half that power. “Honey, there’s no need to be concerned. It was my angina. If it weren’t for the angina, I’d have them lined up to come in and fight you. I can make it happen again.”

  I swallow, hating the mention of her episode. My sweet, sweet mother. I reach for her arm and squeeze it gently. “It’s okay, Maiko. I’m an adult, about to graduate, remember? You’ve done well with me. It’s only fair that I start working for it too.”

  Her face blanks, but the way she twists her wedding band around her finger tells me how anxious she is. “Of course. As you wish, Victor-san.” She bows her head, submissive to the whims of me, the sudden patriarch. It would be wrong if we weren’t talking about my future.

  “Maiko. Maiko-Maiko-Maiko,” I hum in a tune I made up when I was little. It still makes her eyes soften. “I’ve found a great camp. I test-fought for them, and they accepted me. I believe in the owner, who’s also the head coach, and his stable of pro fighters is amazing.”

  This is the hard part. I draw in air for courage. “I’ve accepted a fight against Krzysztof Ade.”

  My bomb freezes the air around us. Once Maiko can speak, she murmurs, “Ade. Dirty submissions from the bottom.”

  “I know.”

  “Let me call Thomas-san tomorrow, and maybe we’ll have Min Wo over. He can drill you in your Kimura variations.”

  “Maiko.” She needs to learn that Dawson already has a plan for me. “I want you to meet the head trainer.”

  My mother swallows heavy pride as we walk the block from the parking garage to the gym.

  When we enter, Dawson awaits us in the reception area, salt-and-pepper head bowed in reverent welcome of Maiko. He’s from Poland, an immigrant in the U.S. too, but his culture doesn’t require deep bows. No, Dawson is genuinely awed by the presence of Maiko Arquette in his camp.

  “Mrs. Arquette. I’m honored to meet you,” he says in the low tone he seems to use in most situations. “I’m Dawson Bartosz. Welcome to Alliance Cage Warriors.”

  My mother’s nod is smaller than his, a sign of lesser respect. He doesn’t know. “I’m delighted to meet you, Mr. Bartosz. Will you show me where my son will train?”

  “It will be my pleasure.”

  Maiko’s eyes thin as she takes in his equipment. Not all is state-of-the-art, and it shows signs of wear and tear. She halts by a ring where two of the pros are training. It’s Keyon fighting Zeke, a younger warrior whom I’ve already sparred with. They’re both exceptional.

  I smirk as my mother’s eyes follow their quick moves, register the force of Keyon’s strikes and the agility with which Zeke dodges them. Keyon chuckles. “Damn, dude. You been working out?”

  Zeke only grunts in response, but a cocky grin broadcasts his delight.

  “Your father wouldn’t be happy,” Maiko tells me on our way to the car. “By training there, anyone can study your technique. You will lose your advantage of secrecy.”

  I want to remind her that most public fights are recorded, that it’s part of a warrior’s learning process to watch the recordings. To master the techniques is the real challenge. But arguing will only make her more miserable.

  “I’ll be careful. I desperately need new sparring partners. The guys might pick up tips from me, but it’ll be mutual—I’ll learn from them too.”

  My mother doesn’t look at me when she says, “There’s a reason why I’ve kept your fights low profile. I really wish you wouldn’t jeopardize your surprise advantage. In another ten months, you could be the new knockout sensation, and Las Vegas wouldn’t even see it coming. You’re so close, son.”

  We both stare at the asphalt as we walk. I open the car door for my mother and watch her sit. Then I say, “I’m sorry you’re disappointed. I don’t want to disappoint you, but this is something I need to do for me—I want their input. You will always be my head trainer, but I want Dawson’s assistance too. He has his thumb on the pulse of the industry in a way we don’t anymore.”

  She turns to me quickly. “Your father took care of that side.”

  “I know.”

  “But we’re still on top of it.”

  “We haven’t been out of Tampa for camps or fights since he passed away,” I say. “It’s time, Mom.”

  Today is an awesome day: my first fight for the Alliance Cage Warriors is about to begin, and with the posting of my final grades, I’m officially done with college. Starting now, nothing can stop me from dedicating myself a hundred and ten percent to MMA.

  I’m calm. I’ve got countless matches under my belt, but this will be different. Since the death of my father, Maiko has chosen my opponents. She’s played it safe—without realizing, I’m sure—and for her sake I’ve allowed it. I can’t let that happen anymore.

  When picking a challenger, Dawson studied my fortes and weaknesses. “You’ve got to bleed, Arquette. Just enough without losing the fight,” he said, and the rush of us being on the same page made me smile.

  I enter the ring, shaking out already loose muscles. Maiko is here, tipping her chin up in quiet defiance. Despite her opposition to my new strategy, she’s my head coach and she does what she does insanely well. The Muay Thai way, she makes sure I’m limber, warm, and agile before she lets me slip into any fight. Today is no different.

  The small crowd cheers. They’re enthusiastic, and their anticipation breeds mine. Krzysztof “The Slayer” Ade is being prepped at the foot of the stairs. My eyes flick to the round-card girls with their red bikinis and long hair while I wait.

  There are two main schools of thought in terms of women’s influence on a fighter. I understand them both but stick to one. My slipups are few and far between.

  One says, no women if you want to stay on task and not lose your mental bearings. The other insists, a serious fighter on a rigid schedule will build such an excess of sexual energy that it’s got to be released for him to be at his best.

  I can’t say I’ve tried the second method, to freely indulge in order to remain physically relaxed. It was my father who initially taught me the rules of the first school. There were difficult times during my teenaged years with more slipups than I now have, but he was right—I have to keep my eyes on the goal. To do so, my mind can’t stray to a female after a memorable night, and I’m not sure I was made to do and forget.

  It’s been a while since I’ve felt the soft skin of a woman beneath my fingers. Since I’ve smelled that intoxicating aroma that’s distinct yet similar between each
one.

  The adrenaline pulses in my blood, getting me ready to fight. It also jacks up my drive. A round-card girl swings to me, chattering with her colleague, but she pauses midsentence when she sees my expression. I must be burning with it.

  Those soft curves.

  Round-card girls are often in this for the fighters. If I lose, she won’t try to make contact. If I win though, I’d better leave before I have to reject her.

  I avert my gaze, focus on my gloved hands. Slam them together a few times while I wait for Ade to step into the ring. Once I’ve stilled my bloodthirst, the hunger for intimacy will be suppressed. What’s taking him so long?

  Ade lumbers out. As soon as the referee starts the fight, my mind rushes to my opponent, like my punches do, like my kicks and throws.

  The match is explosive. During the first rounds, I’m pushed into defending too often, so I change it up and get him with a flurry of leg kicks to slow him down by weakening his stance. In the third round, I finally send him to sleep with a flying knee to the jaw. Through the fight, Maiko stands by my corner, neck rigid and a small fist clenched at her waist. I’m not even two weeks into my agreement with Alliance Cage Warriors, so it doesn’t surprise me that she snubs an overt collaboration with Dawson. I hope that changes.

  I’ve discussed her situation with him, and my new coach is wise. He’s also an encyclopedia on martial arts accomplishments over the last decades, and my mother’s name comes up quite a bit.

  “It’s understandable. I’m just starting to make a name for myself, while the Arquettes are pioneers in this sport. Your mother is probably doing her research on me, and she’ll find a short list of accomplishments. I’ll just have to prove myself to her,” he said, winking. “In the meantime, if there’s anything she needs at the gym, she’s welcome twenty-four seven.”

  It’s sporadic in the beginning, but Maiko takes Dawson up on his offer to come by. Today I’m already at the gym, doing weights and spotting a teammate when Maiko arrives, dressed in her customary black cotton ensemble. She’s got her arms on her back, watching us from the entrance to the weight room.

  “Have you sparred yet?” she asks, gaze sliding from Jaden to me. She’s already assessed him, measured muscle tone, technique, and efficiency just from the simple moves he makes when I drop the weight above him and he catches it.

  “Maiko, have you met Jaden?” I ask, nodding to my friend. He’s pretty funny. Much funnier than I’ve ever felt the need to be. Jaden’s face broadens in one of those big grins you see on film. It’s ostentatious.

  “Mrs. Arquette, I was there for your son’s fight. It’s—” Jaden frowns, rethinking his strategy. “T’was a good fight. Just wanted to say that I’m very happy to meet you. Mm, your husband and you, you’re a bit legendary.” He chuckles uncomfortably, maybe at the awe in his own voice.

  “She’ll do autographs for the right price,” I murmur, tapping into some humor myself, and Jaden bites his lip, amused.

  It really is remarkable how reverent people get in Maiko’s presence. To me, she’s a mother, a great trainer who knows what she wants: world domination. If only my father’s passing hadn’t gotten in the way.

  Maiko ignores my comment and bows her head carefully. When she looks back up, there’s a slight quirk at the corners of her mouth. “I’m happy to meet you too. Your Brazilian is quite good,” she admits. You’d have to know her to register her slight disappointment over something in this gym surpassing her expectations.

  “You’ve seen me?” Jaden raises his brows.

  Her curt nod confirms that she has.

  “Wow, thanks. Ring B should be vacant,” Jaden says, irises sparkling now that Mrs. Arquette will be watching.

  “All right, let’s roughhouse.”

  In the ring, Maiko and I slide into our regular routine. We don’t need words for this. She’s there, small nods of her head, a finger raised at a crucial moment. A narrowing of eyes, the slight arch of an eyebrow has provided me with more clues than the loudest shouts since I was little.

  Once, she taps a foot on the ground. It’s so subtle if we weren’t fine-tuned, I wouldn’t have caught it. Now I glance at her, find her jaw muscles tensed with annoyance, and I know my exact slipup.

  Jaden’s a great fighter, but he doesn’t have my mother as his personal trainer. She’s done; two mistakes, and it’s a wrap. If I want her to speak to me once we leave, I better show more effort than the scattered concentration I’ve displayed so far, and that’s the reason why I take him down sooner than I should have for a simple training fight.

  As I help him up, I meet Maiko’s eyes over the ropes. She’s somewhat appeased. Behind her, Dawson stands in the archway to the reception area. Small blue eyes riffle between Maiko and me, and by his posture, how he leans on his heels, thumbs in his pockets, he’s got us figured out.

  I might be young, but I’ve watched two unparalleled trainers transform talent into stars for a decade and a half. A big part of making it in this sport is to possess an uncanny ability to read body language. My dad had it. My mom does. And now, as I watch Dawson watch us, I realize he has it too.

  There’s a swelling in my chest at the thought. I’ve relied on the Arquette instincts for so long. But now, here I am watching and seeing that I’ve made the right decision; I’m drifting from two legends to one who is fresh. Dawson will be here, continue to build on the foundation laid by my parents so I can reach my absolute potential as a fighter.

  I’m still pumped as I prepare to leave Alliance Cage Warriors. Maiko could have left earlier, but my excitement ignited something in her too, I think, so she hung in there, watching for a couple more hours .

  It’s eleven fifteen. Forty-five minutes prior to my regular bedtime. Only Jaden and I remain behind of the fighters. Even Dawson has deserted us for dinner with his wife. Jaden turns the light off in the main areas, but in the lobby, a young girl who works the front desk rises from her chair and stretches.

  “You still here, Connie?” Jaden asks needlessly.

  “Yeah. I was doing homework,” she replies, and I swallow thickly at the ribbon of white skin showing between her top and the lining of her shorts. I want to dig my fingers into that. Biology’s a killer.

  I shake my head to clear my thoughts. Stalk to the door and swing for a last wave. “Night, guys.”

  “See ya tomorrow, bro,” Jaden says. He’s got his head over the water fountain, getting enough sprayed on his face to cool down. Me, I’ll be cooling down in the shower at home.

  HELENA

  I don’t have a phone, I think as I tiptoe to the ticket counter. I know better than to flaunt my insecurity. Chin angled the way I’ve been taught, I meet the attendant’s stare with discrete confidence.

  “Hi there,” I begin, my voice smooth and calm. “What’s your next international flight?”

  “Let’s see.” Slim glasses slide down her nose as she twists to her computer screen. It takes her too long. How hard is it to locate the very next international flight? “Amsterdam, Miss, leaving at six p.m.”

  Amsterdam isn’t even two hours from here!

  “Is that as far as it goes?” I burst out and cringe inwardly at how stupid that sounded.

  “Excuse me?”

  Ugh. Damage control. “Sorry, Amsterdam is an international hub, correct?” I say, sounding more seasoned-traveler-like.

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “What departures do you have from Amsterdam to the U.S.?” I ask. My heart gallops while she takes her sweet time, mouth pursed, studying the screen. From her expression, she could be reading up on the latest in molecular research. “There’re a few. The first one goes to Tampa, Florida, at ten p.m. The layover would be just a few hours. Then there’s Detroit. Hmm, I’ve got Chicago.”

  “Actually, my final destination is Tampa, so that’ll work,” I say, relieved. “Any vacant seats?”

  She returns to her computer. “Yes, but all business class. Does that interest you?”

  As I’ve
been taught, I force my shoulders down and my spine straight, and I meet her stare in a superior way that’s too friendly to be abrasive. “Yes, Ma’am, it does,” I say.

  Ten minutes later, I’ve got boarding passes and a heart that thunders in my chest. This is so rash. I have no plan. What will I do once I land in a foreign country? I’ve got a BA in English, so the language isn’t a problem, but what about work? Studies? Am I staying, or am I just hiding for a few days? I don’t even know.

  I’ve got money. My family is pretty much broke, but I’ve got my college fund. I was supposed to move on to a master’s in English and Literature next semester, especially after the ceremony, after Gunther Wilhelm Affenheimer the Fourth had his day. The day I’d planned for him. I groan quietly.

  For what though? Would my master’s degree in English help Papa with his financial problems? Would it assist in retaining our home, the place where both Papa and I were born?

  The check-in line is long. Everyone else totes bags or suitcases, while all I carry is my wallet, my passport, and my car key. Because the key to my Lexus will be helpful in Tampa. There’s a spare in my vanity at home. I’ll have to ask Elfriede to arrange for a pickup. I swallow my sadness at not having said goodbye to her. I don’t want people here to watch me cry. I’m already on their radar in this outfit.

  Sweet Elfriede. She’s been with us since before I was born, and now she’s our only remaining full-time maid.

  Maybe one of her sons can pick up the car?

  Papa should sell it, spend the money on a few of the loose pavers in the Madonna Forest. I really want to cry now. If it were up to me, I’d have a cheaper car, but Papa always insisted we “operate at our level.”

  “What would the townsfolk think?” he’d say.

  “Maybe they’d think that ‘keeping up appearances’ isn’t part of our game anymore,” I’d retort. He and I disagree on many things. I wonder what Muti would think.

  Oblivious to the condition of her beloved estate, my grandmother sits at her window contemplating the swan pond below. Sometimes, when strangers stroll around the pond pointing and taking pictures, a furrow of confusion deepens between her eyebrows. She never asks what they’re doing there.