Wrestling with the Devil

by Lex Luger

  I immediately turned the car around, dropped Elizabeth back at the dealership, and then headed to the apartment. I spotted Peggy’s car. I didn’t know what I was going to say yet, so I waited until she left for home. I knew she’d have to leave eventually, because Lauren would be getting home from school.

  I spent that afternoon in a quandary. I decided that in this case, honesty would be the best policy. I would come clean—sort of.

  I called Peggy that afternoon and explained to her how sorry I was that she had found those gifts in the apartment. I told her that even though Elizabeth and I didn’t work together anymore, we still bumped into each other at the gym and had remained friends—and hung out together sometimes.

  “Elizabeth had asked for a ride to her car dealership today. I was just helping her out. I was surprised when she brought me those gifts. And I’m so sorry that you found them there in the apartment.

  “I love you, Peg. Can you please forgive me? For the sake of our family, for our children, please give me a second chance.” I promised to immediately break things off with Elizabeth, assuring Peggy that our friendship was over.

  As hurtful as that debacle was, Peggy decided to give me a second chance.

  I lied once again.

  I told Elizabeth that we could not be seen in public anymore. It was too risky. She needed to get an extra phone for me to use to call her. That way, our calls would appear on her phone bill, not mine.

  As always, Elizabeth was cooperative and said she understood. We still saw each other at her apartment after my workouts and talked regularly on the secret phone.

  It was the summer of 2002. At the end of the school year, we had given up the apartment on the west side, since Brian no longer needed it. He and I were both living at Sugarloaf now, and I had to start rushing back and forth again, commuting from our home to the gym every day.

  I still believed I had it all together.

  One summer morning, I hurriedly backed out of my driveway at Sugarloaf. I raced down the interstate in my Silver Bullet, zipping my Porsche in and out of traffic as I flew through Gwinnett, DeKalb, Fulton, and Cobb Counties as if my life depended on it.

  It was like I was playing a video game. As I got to my exit, I was totally oblivious to the black, unmarked Suburban that followed me off the highway. Pulling into the parking lot of my destination, I relaxed. I had gotten there in record time!

  That was when I saw the blue light on the dash of the Suburban. Uh-oh. A man dressed in street clothes got out of the car and approached my window. He looked at me and said, “Lex, where’s the fire? You were doing 167 miles per hour. Why on earth were you driving that fast?”

  I paused for a second before answering.

  “I have a tanning appointment here,” I confessed. “This place is always booked, and if I don’t make it, it’ll be forever before I can get back on the schedule.”

  Man, the look on his face. I realized that he was probably a detective. “Are you kidding me?”

  “No, I have to keep my tan for the fans.”

  He shook his head in disbelief. “Lex, I’m going to pretend I never bumped into you. Promise me one thing, though. You’re going to slow this thing down. Do you know how many people you endangered, including yourself?” Amazingly, I didn’t get a ticket that day; he let me go. The absurdity of my story caught him so completely off guard that he knew no one could make something like that up.

  The more ridiculous my life became, the more I tried to rationalize my behavior as perfectly normal.

  I decided I still needed a residence closer to my business. I didn’t think it was unusual for a successful businessman who works in a large city to get a place in town closer to his office, while maintaining a family home in the suburbs. So I decided to have a secret town house built on the west side of town. It seemed logical to me, but I knew Peggy wouldn’t go along with the idea. I had to keep it under wraps.

  Keeping it a secret financially was no problem. I could have my private banker handle all that.

  Even though juggling the east side/west side commute was stressful at times, everything seemed to be under control and going according to my plan.

  In December 2002, Sting called me. Over the years since our blowup, he had continued to call on occasion and try to reach out to me, in spite of my hard feelings toward him. He said he was going on a two-week European tour with World Wrestling All-Stars (WWA), and one of the other main-event wrestlers had dropped out at the last minute. “Are you interested in filling his spot?”

  “Yes, that would be great.”

  Actually, it didn’t turn out to be great at all. I wasn’t feeling well before I left, and once I got there, I was sick as a dog. I had pneumonia and was able to wrestle in only a few matches.

  While I was gone, unbeknownst to my private banker, the final paperwork for the secret town house had been sent to my home address at Sugarloaf instead of to him.

  Peggy was waiting for me with the paperwork in hand when I returned home.

  “What’s this? Why are we finalizing the closing of a town house in Cobb County?” she demanded. “What’s going on?”

  I was caught red-handed. I scrambled for an explanation. I decided to plead insanity.

  “I’m sorry. I thought we needed to have a place closer to the business. I meant to tell you once things were finalized. Maybe the drugs and alcohol are affecting my decision making more than I thought. Maybe I do need some help,” I told her.

  I sat down with her and the kids and said I would go to the Ridgeview Institute in Atlanta for drug rehab.

  In reality, I had no intention of getting help. I was just going to go to the town house to lay low, get high, and regroup.

  I stopped answering phone calls from all my friends and family members. My life had become a total lie.

  My resolution for 2003 was to clean up my act. I didn’t need to go to rehab—I would fix myself. I planned to stop drinking and taking pills in the mornings and afternoons, and just catch a light buzz before dinner. I vowed to myself that I’d get things back under control. After all, when I decided to do something, I always got it done. I would get in tip-top shape by the summer. The over-the-top celebration was over; it was time to get back to work.

  Peggy was well aware that I hadn’t gone to Ridgeview like I had promised her and the kids. By this point, mere words wouldn’t even come close to making things right again. I wanted to get back on track; maybe, over time, my actions would speak louder than words. I assumed I wouldn’t be welcome back at Sugarloaf anytime soon, so I decided to stay at the town house and be closer to the gym.

  One day, Sting called to say he was in town and wanted to see me. When he came by, he pleaded with me to go back home, saying it was the right thing to do. Although I appreciated him coming by, I had no plans of taking his advice. It fell on deaf ears.

  Of course, I wasn’t totally alone on the west side of Atlanta—something I’m sure Peggy was aware of as well. One day a friend of Elizabeth’s stopped by my town house; she was worried about Elizabeth’s drug and alcohol intake.

  The previous six months, there had been signs of Elizabeth increasing the amounts she needed for a buzz, but to be quite honest, I was too focused on myself to think of what was happening to her. As we talked, her friend’s concerns brought some things to light.

  “Lex, did you ever notice how accident-prone Elizabeth has been lately?”

  “Yeah, but she always blames it on Sadie, saying Sadie jerked the leash when they were on a walk and pulled her down.” (Sadie was Elizabeth’s German shepherd.)

  After talking about the situation, Elizabeth’s friend and I both believed that drugs and alcohol were the more likely culprits. As I reflected on it, I knew she wasn’t fine. She was coming to the gym less and less often, saying she didn’t feel well. That wasn’t like her. She’s not taking care of herself, I thought.

  Although I thought she was being a busybody, I told Elizabeth’s friend that I would talk to her about it.
And I did.

  When I next saw Elizabeth, I said, “You know, I think we both need to clean it up a little more. Maybe cut back on the alcohol and pills.” She nodded in agreement.

  I needed to heed my own advice about cleaning things up. In early spring, I was involved in a fender bender on my way home from picking up some carryout. Nobody was hurt, but the police were called. I had had a few beers and pills before I left the house, so I did have an anxious moment when I was given a Breathalyzer test. But I passed with no problem. After I received a citation for the accident, I went on my way, feeling like I had dodged a bullet.

  Brian’s Siberian husky, Zoe, was now living with me at the town house, which was great company for Sadie. I had a fenced-in yard, and the two dogs loved playing with each other. One evening while Elizabeth and I were both catching a buzz, she announced that she wanted to take the dogs for a walk.

  “Why don’t you just let them out back?” I said.

  She enjoyed walking the dogs, so she ignored my comment and began leashing them. I walked out into the garage to see them off, with no intention of going along. About ten feet down the driveway, the two dogs began romping after each other, and their leashes wrapped around Elizabeth’s legs. She became hog-tied and fell down on the driveway hard, hurting her arm and shoulder and scraping her face under her right eye. It all happened in an instant. When I ran over to help her up, she insisted she was fine. We went inside and put a bag of ice on her eye. She was concerned about the scrape, so I suggested putting some Neosporin on it.

  A few days later, we had both gotten buzzed before going to our favorite pizza place to pick up dinner. When we got home and I pulled into the garage, Elizabeth got out of the Porsche with the pizza box still on her lap, lost her footing, and stumbled. The pizza box flipped open, and the extra-large pizza loaded with everything went all over the inside of the car. She got up and began heading inside the town house.

  I was definitely upset. “Hey! We need to clean this mess up now!”

  “You clean it up!” she responded.

  When she headed for the door that led into the house, I blocked her way.

  We continued to argue, and Elizabeth kept trying to get past me into the house. As our voices got louder, a neighbor called the police.

  We were both in the house when several squad cars pulled up. I opened the door. One officer asked me to wait outside while he talked to Elizabeth. I didn’t think much of it, standing outside and chatting with the other policemen.

  A few minutes later, the officer came back out through the garage. “Lex Luger, you’re under arrest for domestic abuse.” What? I was stunned. I had never laid a hand on a woman in my life. I was read my rights and taken to Cobb County Jail.

  I was allowed my one phone call, which I made to my lawyer at 5 a.m. on Easter morning. He came down to the station, posted bond, and bailed me out. It was then that I learned the details of the charge. The arresting officer had seen Elizabeth’s black eye and the abrasion on her cheek and believed that I had harmed her. Elizabeth had emphatically insisted that I had never touched her, and she was very upset that the officer had arrested me. The charges were eventually dropped, and at least for a few weeks, everything was back to normal.

  Even though things were still tenuous between Peggy and me, she wanted our kids to have some kind of relationship with their father. She had begun bringing Lauren by the town house, and we talked about doing that at regular intervals. As for Brian, he had grown into a talented six-feet-eight junior power forward who was looking ahead to his senior season of high school basketball. He had blossomed into one of the area’s top recruits and was receiving interest from a lot of major college programs.

  May 1 was the last day of the open recruiting period when college coaches could come see him perform as a junior. A bunch of Division I coaches were scheduled to be at his school to watch him scrimmage and talk with him afterward. I was thrilled when Brian decided that he wanted me to be there to meet with them and help look out for his best interests.

  That day I had a good workout at the gym, went home, showered, and then went to Pace Academy to meet Brian. Fortunately, I had been sticking to my game plan of staying straight during the daytime hours, which was a good thing because I wanted to be at my best in front of Brian and the coaches.

  Before I left, Elizabeth had stopped by the town house and asked if she could hang out there while I was gone.

  “Sure,” I said. “I don’t know when I’ll be back. Probably not until at least dinnertime.”

  “That’s okay,” she said. “I’ll see you later. Enjoy your time with Brian.”

  I didn’t get home until around nine o’clock that evening. Elizabeth seemed to be somewhat high when I found her sitting downstairs in the home theater.

  “I’m going to run over to Blockbuster and grab some movies,” I said, ready to relax for the evening. To be honest, I was ready to get buzzed myself, then enjoy one of my favorite Boston Market meals: meat loaf and mashed potatoes.

  When I got back from Blockbuster, I popped in an Arnold Schwarzenegger action flick. We partied with a few pills and cocktails but kept it light. I was talking about Brian and the scouts, and Elizabeth was happy that I had had the opportunity to be there.

  I was really into the movie, but I did notice that Elizabeth kept dozing on and off. She’d wake up during the loud action scenes, then close her eyes again. I didn’t think too much of it; since it was late, I figured she was tired.

  By the time the movie was over, I was starving and decided it was time to microwave our meat loaf and potatoes.

  Elizabeth was hungry as well, so she got up from the couch and walked over to the microwave to help.

  “Go ahead and sit down,” I said. “I’ll bring it over to you.”

  I took her plate over to her on a tray, then sat back down on the couch and started digging into my dinner. She had taken a few bites of food, but the next moment I looked over, her head was rolled back as if she were sleeping.

  “Hey, Liz, wake up!” I said. “Your food’s getting cold!”

  She didn’t answer or move.

  I said it again, a little bit louder. “Hey, Liz, let’s eat!”

  There was no response.

  I set my tray aside, walked over, and knelt down in front of her, moving the tray off her lap. I nudged her, but she didn’t move. Man, she’s really out! I nudged her once again on her shoulder. She made a gurgling noise and some saliva came out of the side of her mouth, but she didn’t open her eyes.

  Something’s not right!

  When she didn’t open her eyes, I decided to gently pull up one of her eyelids. I was immediately startled. Her eye was completely dilated. Something was terribly wrong. I could feel it in my gut. I ran to my phone and dialed 911.

  “I need some help here now!” I screamed at the dispatcher.

  The fire station was just down the road, so I knew the paramedics would be here in minutes, but I was still panicking.

  “Is she breathing?” the dispatcher asked me.

  “I don’t know!”

  “Do you know how to do CPR?”

  “I took a course a few years ago, but I don’t know if I remember how.”

  “I’ll talk you through it,” the dispatcher said, keeping me as calm as possible. “First, you need to lay her down on a flat surface.”

  I picked Elizabeth up off the couch and placed her on the floor. She was limp, like a rag doll. That really freaked me out.

  I was frantically trying to blow air into her mouth, following the dispatcher’s instructions as closely as I could, but Elizabeth wasn’t responding.

  Thankfully, I heard a knock at the door. The paramedics! I immediately let them in and took them to where Elizabeth was lying. They quickly put an oxygen mask on her face, then opened her blouse and began hand-massaging her chest, over her heart. I got out of their way, figuring that everything they were doing was normal. She’s in good hands now, I thought. She’ll be okay.

/>   “We’re going to have to transport her to the hospital,” one of the paramedics said. As they put Elizabeth on a gurney and wheeled her out to the ambulance, I still wasn’t aware of how critical her condition really was. I followed them outside.

  There were emergency responders everywhere I looked. It seemed as if every cop and fireman in Cobb County were arriving on the scene. A big crowd was gathering.

  As the paramedics closed the back of the ambulance, I said, “Should I hop in with you guys?”

  One of them replied, “No, just meet us there.” Then, with lights and sirens going, the ambulance left.

  I started to head back inside to get my keys when I was stopped by a police officer. “You can’t go back in there right now,” he said.

  “I need to get my car keys!”

  “We can’t let anyone back in the town house right now. We need to keep this area clear,” the officer informed me.

  I sat down on the front steps for a short while, but my patience ran out. No one was saying anything to me. I just wanted to get to the hospital.

  I asked again, “Can I go inside and get my car keys?”

  The officer said that no one could go inside.

  I demanded to know why. “What’s going on here? Why can’t I go back inside?”

  One of the lead cops took me aside. “Lex, I’m sorry. She didn’t make it. She died on the way to the hospital.”

  What did he say? Elizabeth’s dead?

  I suddenly felt very light-headed, like I was going to pass out. I couldn’t stand up anymore. I slid down the side of my town house and collapsed on the grass, my face buried in my hands. The impact of what had just happened started to hit me.

  I can’t believe this is happening! I kept saying to myself over and over. How can this be happening?

  I asked the officer, through my tears, “Could you please give me a few minutes alone?”