The Gender Game 5: The Gender Fall(104)

“It was positively disgraceful,” Ms. Dale gaped. “And you shouldn’t bring that up in Mr. Cruz’s company. It’s not polite for a young woman to talk about.”

“Oh, no, madam, I would love to hear more,” said Cruz with a chuckle. “I too have had a few more… zealous fans put me in compromising positions. It’s nice to know I’m not alone.”

Ms. Dale studied him, then leaned over conspiratorially. “A woman tried to force her way into the shower room after one of Viggo’s fights. I was so mortified when I heard! And grateful to stadium security for catching her! Can you imagine? Oh, it is a shame, a real shame, that more women don’t seem to understand how to be a proper young lady.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes as Cruz laughed again, and I tuned out of the conversation. He led us toward the stairs, ones I knew well. An odd feeling was coming over me—the sensation of my current life meeting my former one in strange ways.

The stadium was seven stories in total, with the ground floor entrances leading directly into the stands, and the middle stories of the building widening out from the fight ring. Concentric hallways around the outer sides of the building contained the many things needed to run the show behind the scenes: the changing rooms, bathrooms, concessions stands… and, somewhere, a projector room. I’d never been there in my many times in this building.

Jeff, Cad, and I followed Cruz, as the two women and former fighter turned manager continued to chat about me. I tried to focus on the conversation again, to be present and leave the strange feeling behind me. And promptly felt my face turning into a permanent grimace when the women’s stories grew even more risqué than the previous two. All the same, I couldn’t help but admire the way Ms. Dale and Amber seemed to play off each other, inventing tales and adding details with ease. No matter that it was at my own personal expense—as long as it kept us moving, it was all good.

The stadium was dimly lit, but that was normal. We headed up the handful of steps leading up to the wide hall that encircled the outside of the stadium. I could see the posters from past fights had been torn off the walls, which were now covered with announcements of when the news could be viewed, and instructions on how to proceed. My gaze narrowed in on signs announcing the restrictions on where one could go—namely the second floor and above.

“Is that going to be a problem?” I asked, cutting through Ms. Dale and Amber’s banal chatter and pointing at the sign.

Cruz gave it a smug glance, and then smiled. “Not at all. I’m sure your brother has told you I am the facilitator of the stadium now.”

“Does that mean you tell the guards what to do?”

His eyes considered me thoughtfully, but he shook his head. “Not exactly. But I was a popular figure, which helped attract crowds, initially. Because of that, I am afforded certain… luxuries.”

“Pardon me, Mr. Cruz,” said Cad. “But you said initially? Forgive us, we live out in the country. We have no idea how things have been happening in the city.”

“Ah, well, when they were first trying to get the news out, it was most difficult for them to attract anyone to the stadiums. People were scared, you see. So they hired celebrities to coax in crowds and spread the news, even made us responsible for it. But now that they’ve devised a method of displaying it on the screens, I’m mostly here in case the equipment fails.”

There was no more time to interrogate him after that, as we rounded the corner and saw our first glimpse of a checkpoint, past which the stairs to the second floor could be reached. Sandbags were stacked up, making a barrier across the wide hallway tall enough to come up to the top of my thigh, while guards held their positions at various areas inside. I felt tension straighten my spine as one woman leaned on the sandbags, her gaze calculating as she took us in.

Cruz smiled as he drew closer. “Good evening, Ms. Capote,” he greeted warmly, but I could see the tension in his jaw as he flashed his teeth at the woman. Her insignia marked her as a lieutenant.

“Mr. Cruz,” she said, her voice clipped as she took in our group. I could see her frowning at the dresses Ms. Dale and Amber were wearing, but the expression quickly disappeared. I wondered if she was concerned about hidden weapons, or if she was just assuming the typical Matronising disdain for Patrian women’s garb. “What’s all this?”

“Ah, yes. These are my guests. I’m taking them on a tour of the stadium. They’re allowing me to relive my glory days.”

Ms. Capote’s eyes took us in, a slow graceful arch developing in one eyebrow. “I see.” She checked her watch and frowned. “It’s only twenty minutes until we transmit. Will that be enough time…”