Beautifully Dangerous

by Chelsea Kendall

  “You’ll take the job.” The Archer says, cutting me off with his deep baritone. He’s giving me this supremely confident look like he knows he’s got me in his grips, as if it's not even up to me anymore.

  “What makes you think I will? And your answer better be good because I am on the verge of walking out right now.”

  “You’ll take the job because you think my life is a sham, that I'm a brute and a murderer," Archer says, "You think cage fighting is a set up just to make money on murder. You’ll take the job because you think something immoral is going on here, and nothing would make you happier than to expose the truth.”

  I open my mouth and shut it again. Not only is this guy extremely sexy, he’s damn smart and doesn’t seem to miss a beat. He’s got me. I’m taking the job, but for the sake of my ego I have to argue a bit more. I don’t want to seem eager. I spend the next fifteen minutes throwing up every objection I can think of, even if it's something I don't really think is true.

  Finally I grow tired of the charade and decide to accept the job.

  "Alright. I'll give it a shot," I say, "But if there's any funny business, I'm on the first flight back home."

  "Ah, we knew you'd come around," says Andy, "It's a very generous offer. Free room and board for the remainder of the tournament schedule—June 1st to December 24th. You'll be paid bi-weekly for a grand total of $70,000, cash. While it seems like a lot, you must understand that you will be working, or at least on call, 24/7."

  He stops for a moment to let it sink in.

  I nod my assent.

  "If things work out," he continues, "You have the promise of employment for the complete season next year as well, starting in February and ending again on Christmas Eve. Your pay would then bump up to $12,000 a month for the first half of the season, and then $15,000 a month thereafter. "

  "Of course there will also be bonuses," The Archer cuts in, "As I continue to win fights.”

  I have to keep my jaw from hitting the floor. He winks at me with a devilish smirk. There’s still one thing I have to get out of the way before signing on the dotted line. I want to know about the girl he saved earlier.

  “Do you know her?” I ask, "The girl being attacked by the mob earlier?"

  He gets a faraway look in his eyes before he answers. “She was my first true love. Then she got involved with this human rights group. They poisoned her mind. Now she hates me, and the underground circuit.”

  “But you risked your career and your life jumping into that mob like that. That was crazy!”

  “Often what’s right and what’s smart aren’t the same.”

  Damn, I hate when he does that. He says the exact right thing at the exact right time and it just blows me away. It wasn't the first time today that I secretly wished he didn’t have a fiancée.

  “Wait don't you have a fiancé? So when are you getting married?” I ask.

  “Christmas. Just as soon as she gets back from Sri Lanka. She’s there performing free surgery services to children, many of whom are injured by the millions of land mines that litter the area due to the twenty-five year civil war there.”

  Well fuck me sideways. She’s a saint with a brain.

  “Here’s a picture of her.” He hands me a dog-eared photo from his wallet.

  And she’s gorgeous, too. Super.

  Chapter Four

  Behind Enemy Lines

  The Archer begins his days at five in the morning. And since my new job is to stalk him twenty four hours a day, that’s when mine start, too. I’m sitting here as he eats breakfast, thinking about the remarks I made to someone about how these fighters’ diets consist of drugs, whores, fast food, steroids, and little else. I don't think I could've been more wrong.

  For the amount of eggs and bread this guy downs every morning, it must take an acre of wheat and a barnyard full of hens to keep him supplied. He must have a cow I don’t know about stashed somewhere out back. I look at the brand name of the milk carton he’s just polished off. That company should be sponsoring this guy. He practically lives on the stuff.

  This is his first pre-workout meal of the day, and he’s loading up on carbohydrates and protein. Before today, I had never seen anyone eat fish for breakfast. Just before his morning workout, he drinks these weird concoctions full of fast-acting carbohydrates to give him a quick boost of energy.

  His workouts last about five hours, interspersed with quick breaks to drink his special protein shakes that keep his energy levels up. I’m getting tired just watching him eat. I think I’ll need a nap before I tape his workout.

  Just before seven o’clock, Archer’s trainer—a guy named "Mad Max"—comes in. They call him Mad Max because of the way he pushes Archer, and how he demands so much of him in the gym. And of course, because of his unorthodox training methods. The length of his workouts are never set in stone. He prefers a dynamic regimen. According to him, "The Vietcong never attacked for 45 minutes or 60 minutes, they attacked until they had no more ammo left!"

  Mad Max always pushes Archer until he can do no more. Then, he adds another twenty minutes to the routine just to make sure the fighter is completely drained. Max is in his early 70’s, and since he lost his running capabilities long ago, he now drives his Mercedes SLK convertible and makes Archer run behind the car, following him around everywhere. They usually go to Daily City, which is a stone’s throw from San Francisco. It has the same hilly terrain but none the traffic.

  I'm in the back seat filming Archer as he runs steadily behind the car. The Mercedes idles at about 15mph but Mad Max likes to hit the gas whenever Archer gets too close.

  "Keep up, you good for nothing shit bird!" Max cackles over his shoulder. "How's he look to you, young lady? Are we workin’ him hard enough?"

  "I think so," I say, "He looks pretty tired already."

  "You ain't seen nothin’ yet!" Max yells back to me.

  I turn around with my camera to get some footage of our crazy driver, and he gives the camera the finger. "You better get that camera back on that good for nothin’ piece of shit back there, we got some hills comin up!" Max starts laughing to himself again.

  As we start up the first hill, I hold on tight to the back seat headrest and train my camera on Archer again. God, he looks miserable. When will this end? I feel like I'm having trouble catching my own breath just watching him.

  "Yeah! Run, maggot, run!" Max screams at the top of his lungs.

  Holy shit. I may just be getting the best footage of my life, here. I could probably sell this to SNL or something. I'm quickly realizing that the “mad” in "Mad Max" may not be just a nickname. We keep driving as Archer runs along behind us. He runs until he starts stumbling around, running into things and swerving into the other lane. When he sees that it's becoming dangerous, Max slows down and lets Archer jump into the car.

  "Tired, maggot?" Max laughs. Archer just smiles at the old man. Max tosses the fighter a jug full of some mystery protein shake cocktail. "Drink up Sally!" Max screams as he throws the car into gear. We squeal off back to Oakland to hit the gym.

  On the way, Archer downs almost the entire jug. I had no idea how much upkeep goes into maintaining this lifestyle. This man is dedicated. He looks back at me for a moment, as if he can read my mind, and I lower my camera and smile. Without a word, he simply nods and turns back around to finish off the liquid meal. I stare at his arms as he holds the jug up to his mouth. God, those biceps are killing me. I notice the muscles in his neck tense and flex as he takes each swallow. If this is all it takes to get my heart racing, then I'm in serious trouble.

  The gym is pretty much empty at this time of the day, and Max has free reign of the modern day torture chamber. I’m not sure why it’s important to film all his workouts, but I do it anyway—even though it’s boring as hell. At first, I thought it would be exciting to watch Archer's half naked body going day in and day out. But hanging out in the gym for hours on end gets old quick.

  It’s almost two in the afternoon when An
dy finally shows up. He walks over to me and sits down.

  "Hey there," I say.

  I try to make conversation with Andy whenever he’s around just to break the monotony, but he seems wary of the camera. I think he wants to be more of a behind-the-scenes guy. He watches for a moment as his brother shovels food down at an alarming pace before he says anything to me.

  “We’d like you to—”

  I hold up my hand in front of his face. “I’ve got it!” I announce proudly. “If this fighting thing doesn’t work out, The Archer here has a great future as a professional eater. I bet he could put away fifty hotdogs in record time. He’d break every record in the book!”

  Archer looks up at me from his plate of food. “Hate hotdogs,” he says simply.

  And that’s it. Hate hotdogs. Apparently, The Archer is famous for not talking much. He’ll try to take a complete sentence and boil it down to just a couple words if possible. To say he’s a man of few words is an understatement, although he's already opened up to me quite bit. Off camera, of course.

  “If you’re finished planning my brother’s next career move, we have something we’d like you to do.”

  “I’m finished. I know a guy who used to be a professional eater, I’ll put in good word for Archer.”

  Sense of humor is completely lost on these guys.

  “What? Never mind." Andy continues, "We’d like you to film one of Archer’s friends—”

  “Best friend,” Archer butts in.

  “Yes, best friend,” Andy replies, humoring his brother. “His name is Koenig, perhaps you’ve heard of him? He’s trying to land a network TV special about the life of the fighter. ABC is putting together a documentary and they’re looking for fighters to profile."

  He stops for a moment to get a read on me so far, but I just continue to stare at him. I see where he is going with this, and it might not be the worst thing to happen to me. I can see Max in the background assembling the next gauntlet of weights for Archer to suffer through.

  Six months of this and I'm going to die of boredom.

  Andy continues, "We think that if you could spend a few days there taping and editing, you could come up with something to send the networks. When they see him, and your work they’ll want to feature him in their documentary about the lifestyle. He and Archer kinda came up together and he wants to help the guy.”

  “Okay...” I say hesitantly.

  “You’ll be paid of course," Andy quickly interjects, "Your usual rate plus a bonus, say ten thousand, if the network chooses to use Koenig's story. Is that agreeable to you?”

  “I think I can manage it,” I say after a minute.

  “Great. A car will come to pick you up in two hours. Take enough clothes and equipment for a three day shoot. Do you think three days is enough time to put something together, or will you need more time?”

  "Hey Maggot!" Max screams over to Archer, "Tea time is over. Get your pansy ass over here, this iron is in my way and I need you to lift it for me."

  “I don’t know," I say, "Does this guy keep the same vigorous training schedule as Archer here?”

  “They all do, Eva. At least, the serious fighters do.”

  I sigh heavily. “Great, I’ll go get my things together.”

  From what I've heard so far, I do not expect to enjoy this Koenig guy's company. I wonder as we drive over why The Archer seems to like him so much. I understand that they came up together in the cage fighting circuit, but so did a lot of other fighters, and they’re not best buddies. There must be something special about this guy for Archer to want to help him so much.

  It’s almost six in the evening when the car finally drops me off at Koenig’s place. It’s more like a compound than a house. His property is surrounded by a twelve foot wall, and a wrought-iron gate guards the entrance to the driveway.

  We pull up to a computerized entry system. I speak my name and the purpose of my visit into the receiver. After a moment a voice sounds over the intercom. "Welcome," the machine says as the gate opens.

  Pretty nifty.

  Inside the gate is a huge Spanish-style mansion with five expensive cars parked out front. There's a huge pool and large gym off to the side of the house. The driver drops me off in front of the gym, I thank him politely and pull out my camera, ready to get to work. I guess Koenig is still in workout mode. I’ll probably just start taping now. I turn my camera on and start with a quick monologue to set up the scene.

  “My Name is Eva Vanderbilt. We’re at the training camp of up-and-coming cage fighter, Koenig. I’m going to spend the next three days learning what makes this guy tick.” I point the camera to the door and push it open. “Here we go.”

  Someone opens the door for me as I walk in. The first thing that grabs my attention, other than the sheer size of the gym, is the size of the man working out. He’s massive! I can't imagine being poked, let alone punched, by this behemoth. His fingers are rough, swollen, and calloused. His pecs, traps, lats—whatever the hell they are—he’s got them, and they’re all super-sized.

  As I zoom in to study his body more closely, I realize that he’s stopped moving. I pan up to his face and find him staring right at me. I have to admit, he's good-looking. And like Archer, the man is a testament to physical perfection. He has the same symmetry, but there's just more of him.

  When I look at The Archer’s body and all his muscles, it gets me purring like crazy. When I look at Koenig, I just feel amazed. I could never hook up with a guy like this. I’d always be studying him like some kind of science experiment or something. His muscles are just too distracting. I’m even more surprised that he's walking over to me now. The Archer doesn’t interrupt his training for anything or anybody, he’s that focused.

  I stop filming and let my camera drop to my side. He extends his hand to shake mine and I reach out to him. I experience a moment of fear as my hand is engulfed in his—will I ever get it back? Fortunately, he is aware of his own strength and doesn’t crush my hand. This man could easily snap the life out of me.

  “Eva. Bobby said you were gorgeous, but he has surely understated your beauty. It is a pleasure to meet you,” he says with a German accent and a cunning smile. He's really well-spoken for a brute.

  “Thank you.” I say. The rich bass of his voice has nearly robbed me of breath.

  “I understand you’re quite the cinematographer.”

  “Well...not exactly. I’m not a movie maker, more of a recorder of life. I record what I see. I don’t try to dress it up. I find the truth with my lens, and I don’t try to change it to make a happier story."

  “I guess we have the wrong person here then,” he says with a straight face.

  Damn, what have I gotten myself into? My face reddens as I scramble to frame a suitable response. “I’m kidding! I’m only kidding," he says laughing. "Everyone is so serious around here! I like to lighten the mood once in a while.”

  While I am relieved, I’m not sure I like the joke. He’s a lot to take in all at once, and I would have preferred to just to stay behind the camera for a bit. That’s how I get to know people. I watch them from a distance at first. That way, I can determine if they're worth my time. I sit down with Koenig and explain what I’ll be doing here—that I’m not here to intrude, just to observe how another champion lives his life.

  "You don't have to entertain me or anything," I say, "I can do my thing and manage on my own."

  "Yes, of course. But if you need anything, don't hesitate. If you don't mind, I'm going to finish my workout. It was nice to meet you Miss Vanderbilt. I look forward to working with you," he says with a sly smile.

  After a couple hours of snooping around the property, I begin to discover some distinct differences between Koenig's level of commitment and The Archer’s. After my first day of filming Koenig, I am totally confused. What does the guy actually do around here? Sure he hits the gym off and on, but not religiously. I wonder how he got his physique and how the hell he maintains it, because from what I'
ve seen, he doesn't put in a fraction of the work. Koenig has the latest state-of-the-art gym equipment, as well as medical staff on call to make sure he is fit and in top shape.

  The strange thing is, Koenig's not even one of the top fighters, yet he has all the trappings of one. He must have a hell of a lot of overhead with this staff and these facilities, but there's no way he's making enough to support it all from fighting purses alone.

  Right now, The Archer is the biggest name in cage fighting, apart from the Ramirez Brothers. Those two are the top rated fighters. Salvador is rated number one, Diego number two, and The Archer is number three. In terms of popularity, Archer is definitely on top, and Koenig is probably in the top ten. I assume he’s trying to land the TV show to pay for all his...stuff. Either that or he's got someone else bankrolling all this.

  I see one of Koenig's people standing outside smoking a cigarette and decide to get some insight.

  "Hello," I say in a friendly tone.

  "What's up baby?" the overly confident meathead says.

  "Not much, just trying to get the scoop, you know," I smile at him. Hey, a little flirting can get you a long way.

  "Maybe I can help sweetie. Smoke?" He asks, taking a drag of his cigarette. He offers me one but I shake it off.

  "When does he usually work out?" I ask.

  He looks at me like I'm nuts.

  “He always does,” the guy says simply.

  Before I can ask him any more he crushes his cigarette with his heel and walks off.

  Maybe Koenig’s a night owl and works out while everyone else is sleeping. I decide to set an alarm for 2am just to see if I can find him up to anything worth videotaping.

  I finally decide to crash at eleven-thirty. I've been taping since 7am, and even though I have tons of Koenig footage, he’s never doing anything you'd expect a professional cage fighter to do. He does spend a hell of a lot of time on the phone, though. Problem is, it’s never in English, always in German.