I put on the headgear and tighten the chin strap. Picking up a red pugil stick, I march toward the platform, conveniently not stopping the firm padding from swatting Basil’s left butt cheek as I pass. When I look back at her open-jawed grin, I smile mischievously and shrug. “Oops.”
Before she rebuts, the same announcer from the first game starts her spiel. This is the largest, fiercest crowd we’ve encountered yet. I’m not sure why, but I fist pump the air, excitement coursing through me when the game I had in mind is confirmed. Gladiator Strike. Perhaps the nature of competition brings out my fighting spirit. I’m up first, then Basil, and if it comes down to a tie-breaker, each team will select their third-round fighter.
I place my sunglasses in my bag and rise to my feet. “I overheard that the Bellini Babes team are the reigning Sapphic Olympics champions for the third year in a row. They had a quick win this morning. Broke their own record.”
“Seems like the team to beat, then. We’ll have to keep winning to see them.” Basil grumbles more words I can’t hear. “Let’s recap,” she says. “You take the short-haired one, I’ll take the redhead. Look alive out there.”
I nod and climb onto the platform. Before realizing the bell rang, I get struck on the side of the head. I shake it off and refocus.
Turns out Basil was right. My opponent is quick, dipping and blocking against my signature rapid jabs. The round is a long and rigorous battle, one that makes beating Kaydence seem like cake, and that was no easy feat. Stamina from jogging has paid off, though, and my opponent’s blitz offense fizzles out. I find an opening, and I muster enough strength for a final strike to the shoulder. My opponent loses her balance and plummets toward the mat.
The whistle blows.
I’m struggling to breathe, plenty glad the round is over. While victoriously holding the stick above my head, I take in the cheers erupting in my favor.
The pain of competing against an athlete who appears fifteen years younger sets in shortly after. Before my wobbly legs give out, staff hands assist me moving my heavy limbs off the platform and into a chair. Basil removes the headgear, and a staff member hands over a water bottle, then offers a pat on the back. Hair sticks to my forehead. Clothes drenched in sweat, I blink continuously until a dimpled grin comes into clear focus. It is a glorious sight.
“You had me a little worried for a second.” Basil crouches down inches away from my face, scanning me from eye to eye like a doctor. “You really don’t quit, do you?”
I take a drink, long enough for my pounding heartbeat to slow. “I’ve never quit anything in my life, and I don’t intend to start now.”
Following her line of vision, I twist my torso to see Lynn and Mae frantically waving. We crack up laughing at Lynn’s Viking-style helmet with beer cans resting inside each horn and a thin plastic tube dangling near her mouth.
Basil’s up next.
Cheers sound, yanking my attention toward the arena. The two women stand still for only a second before the whistle blows. Blue lands the first strike, hitting Basil’s side. A loud, dull thud echoes. It hurt. Her grimace confirms. Another whack to the shoulder. Basil’s foot slips off the edge. The crowd gasps. Helpless, I wince, wishing I could do something.
Somehow, Basil fixes her footing in time and twists to the side, dodging a strike toward the shin. Then it’s like a switch flips inside her mind. She delivers strike after strike. The crowd’s chanting seems to fuel her as she swings, blitzing blows to the woman’s torso, then a powerful swing at the side of her head. The woman topples off the platform.
I check the time. All that in less than fifteen seconds? The announcer shouts, and the crowd goes wild.
She tied the Bellini Babes’ record.
“Okay, I see you out there, Gladiator Jones.” Once Basil is seated in front of me, I hold a hand up, and she meets my high five with an toothy grin, displaying that adorable dimple. “Now that was impressive. We should change our team name to Jousting Joneses.”
Basil laughs. “I think I found my calling.” She takes a deep breath. “God, I needed that. I feel incredible.”
“Have fun?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“That was better than sex.” She giggles and wrangles her flyaways, pulling the hair tie from between her teeth, and wraps her hair into a messy bun. “Where has Gladiator Strike been all my life? Great stress relief.”
I crack a smile. It’s been a while since I’ve felt high on the sheer joy of competition. Certainly Basil is experiencing it too. For the first time, our team doesn’t feel so fake, even if our marriage status says otherwise.
I can't help my grin widening as I watch her soak up the praise. I'd never seen Basil so...happy. Thinking for a moment, I can't remember the last time I had this much fun with another woman. Not even with Grace.
"Come on, Gladiator Jones." I redirect Basil's attention left. "You won't want to miss the fans heading our way."
"Good job out there!" Lynn approaches first, slipping her arms around both our torsos and pulling us into a tight hug. "Remind me not to get on Basil's bad side." When she lets go, Mae catches up to the group.
"Not bad for your first Olympic go-around." Lynn side-hugs Basil again. "Not going to lie, I thought you were chopped liver, but Mae had zero doubts." Lynn, being Lynn, uses her fist as a microphone. "Mrs. Jones, please share the secret sauce of today's victory."
"Secret sauce?" Not missing a beat, Basil repeats into the pretend microphone like a professional athlete. "Easy. I imagined I was hitting the head of one of the Bellini Babes.” Her smile widens. “Respectfully."
"Oooh," Lynn roars. “The semifinals are going to beinteresting.”
The conversation shifts to wine industry news until it’s time to say our goodbyes. Lynn extends an invitation to get drinks with some of the Tier One members, but Mae gives us an out, which Basil and I graciously take. I can already sense the onset of soreness in muscles I forgot existed.
Light from the remaining sun hovering above the horizon casts shadows against women scattered on the beach. The island comes alive in the evening. Music plays in the distance, and clanking bottles and laughter pierce the air.
