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The facility of the WVBA was well accustomed to the waves of fans that rolled up to the doors after matches. While most of them consisted of teenage boys or middle aged men, every so often one of the lady killers would walk out of their limousine and try to head for the building. It was hard to tell how many of the surrounding women were actually fans of the violent boxing matches that lacked rules, and how many who simply wished to become a trophy life of the celebrities and live in comfortable luxury for the rest of their lives. Of course, everyone knew that Don Flamenco was already taken. But everyone also knew that Super Macho Man spoiled all the women he switched between every week.
Glass Joe had found a seat in the almost empty facility cafeteria, located by a table next to the windows that showcased the entrance of the building. The limousine driver opened the passenger door, for none other than Super Macho Man to exit and face the squeals of fans. The 27 year old man was in his environment, as he flashed his golden tooth and jewellery, while signing autographs trying to make his way to the door.
Little was known about Macho Man's life before fame. Most say he was already born into a rich family of celebrities, and that's how he could kickstart his career young. Some say he was 16, some say he was 24. Others state he started out as a bodybuilder, others say as a model. Joe doesn't have enough knowledge of American celebrities to know, and frankly he doesn't care enough to try and solve the puzzle. Others have already tried hard enough - Super Macho Man was just a rather odd guy. The man didn't even look like he was 27, and he certainly acted like someone who tried way too hard to stay hip with the kids.
But hey, it seemed to work at least.
Joe stirred the spoon in his tea a few rounds, almost mesmerized by the borderline chaos outside the window. Even after Macho Man had been able to squeeze his way out of the fans' grip and into the building, most stayed outside only to leave one after one. Groups of two or three left together, chatting. Others were alone. Some were grinning over having received an autograph to resell, or happy to have snatched some valuable pictures.
It appeared way too chaotic for someone like Glass Joe to be able to handle on his own, but supposedly one learnt to handle fame. He simply wished he got the chance to even learn it himself.
This whole building was filled with people younger than him, and younger people who were way more successful than Glass Joe could ever be. When looking at the whole picture, Joe wasn't close to being considered old yet. He's only 38, has a somewhat functional job running and teaching in his boxing school, not to mention the boxing matches that's reached over 100 losses for him. He was more famous than most other people, but while all publicity is great, it doesn't quite hold up in the long run nor does it pay more than the bills unless you're successful.
Sipping on the tea, Joe kept staring out at the now empty entrance. People had wives, families, they had successful careers; Joe had numerous health issues and had most likely lived half of his life already because of them. From a number perspective, he wasn't old. But from a health one, he didn't know if he'd even reach 80.
And that's what caused all these ponderings, these small creeps of anxiety. It didn't eat him up, but it sat enough of it on his shoulder to become a bad itch. People succeeded in life at a younger and younger age - and after his loss to the newest challenger, a 17 year old boy, Joe certainly felt like he had reached a dead end with trying in life.
Drinking up the last drop of the tea, Joe left his plate and cup by the desk as customary, before waving the staff goodbye. They were used to having him there, and he was used to sitting in the small cafeteria. But of course, all that happened was a greeting and small talk from time to time.
He wasn't sure why he made his way to the lockers. All his matches for today were over, but he supposed it couldn't hurt to grab the gym for himself again. While he knew that he wanted to speak with Macho Man, a part of him tried to come up with excuses to not do that. Not only did Joe not know what to say, but Macho Man was also the number one ranked in the WVBA, and Glass Joe sat at the absolute bottom. They hadn't really spoken before, yet Joe followed him into the locker room.
To no one's surprise, Macho Man had taken a break in the middle of changing to flex in front of the mirror. From time to time, he would pause only to run his fingers through his hair, or try to pluck a strand of grey beard hair that appeared on his face. At first, Joe ignored it. It felt awkward, not to mention staring was rude. But both of them felt there was something disrupting the energy in the room, as Macho spoke to the other for the first time in what might as well be ever.
"Ey kiddo, you don't think I need to shave again, eh?"
The whole thing caught Joe so off guard, he didn't even catch what was being said. "Quoi?"
"Yeah, dude!" Macho answered. "Last thing I need is a beard to make me look like some grumpy ol' grandpa!" A rough laugh escaped him before he flinched while double checking that his face both looked and felt perfect.
"There's… only skin on your face." Joe's voice had quite the judgemental tone - not on purpose, of course. It was frankly ironic that Macho Mam's comment was exactly what Joe had been thinking on for the past minutes.
"Hmm." Still, Macho wasn't pleased with the answer. "I'll check with my barber later!" And so, he went back to stretching.
"...You have a personal barber?"
"Yeah?" It was obvious for the rich man! "How else will I keep this face ready for the people?" Flashing a smile towards Joe, the other man slumped - arms resting over his knees and leaning forward. Maybe there was a reason why they barely talked.
"I assumed everyone kind of did that on their own? Aside from bigger changes, I suppose…" Joe muttered. He didn't even look at Macho - something that the self-centered man caught on quickly, though only cocked an eyebrow at.
"Really? Man, that must be tough!" He let out a loud warming laugh, but Joe stayed staring at the floor. With no response, Macho's laugh quieted down. "Hey dude, was it something I said?" The bench sank after the additional weight of Macho Man sitting down next to the smaller Joe, but he still didn't look. Nothing personal of course.
"No no!" Joe laughed - strained as usual. "You seem to have a really successful life. Rich, fame, whatever else." He glanced at the other with a smile. "Of course, it fits you."
"Well, of COURSE it does!" Macho exclaimed, flexing a bicep with a grin, his concerns vanished in a flash. "Who would I be if not!"
Joe could only nod in agreement. He wasn't certain where this conversation led, but kept walking the path. "Well-" Laughing, he scratched the back of his head. "Isn't that kind of the point? One really… isn't anything without fame and riches…" His voice trailed off a little, but with Macho back to talking about himself, he had yet to catch onto it.
"Well, duuh!" A large palm hit Joe's back in a pat, but underestimating his own strength, Macho used enough force to knock the air out of the other for a moment. "I'd be bogus without modelling gigs or boxing fights! Of course, it's impossible for all the ladies to miss out on THIS hot bod!"
Joe forced a smile in response, but still no genuine laugh. Maybe seeking out Macho Man was a mistake after all. His flexing just made the Frenchman feel even worse. Better to change the topic - and Joe knew exactly what to bring up.
"...You know there's rumours and stuff, oui? About you." Joe let out a stale and awkward noise. "How old were you when the fame finally caught up?"
"Well, that had to be 11 years ago or so!" Macho nodded. Ah, that would've made him 16. "One gotta start early, y'know?" Another pat hit his back, one that Joe was more prepared for.
"Well- that early? I know you do more than boxing but… I've been at this for almost 20 years now."
Something felt wrong with this conversation. Sure, Glass Joe wasn't the most happy outside of the ring - but he still stood with good confidence and a cocky smile. Of course a man with 100 losses would be faking most of said confidence, but this was something else. The issue wasn't his lack of wins, no. It was everyone else's opinion of himself. And though Macho Man didn't want to admit it, he shared the feeling. For once, he thought about someone that wasn't him.
"What, like boxing?"
"Mm-hm." Joe nodded. "I know that boxing is a skill, after all. I just- I'm one of the older ones here, and yet I'm stuck on that one win." Not wanting to bring the mood down, Joe attempted a faint laugh. It didn't quite work.
"Yeah, dude." It was rare to hear Macho use a softer voice, but here they were. "Sometimes stuff doesn't work! Like me- don't tell anyone but-" Macho cleared his throat, "I suck at designing clothing and picking outfits, right? Nowadays I have a team that handles the stuff when it's needed, ya get me?"
"..." No, Joe did not get it. "Right."
Silence fell once again. Things were unanswered, and while Macho didn't know what the other was thinking, Joe dropped the bomb.
"...Are you really 27?"
"Of COURSE I am!" Macho replied swiftly. "What else?"
"No like- you'd be 16 if it was 11 years ago. I have… a hard time believing there are any photos from modelling gigs of you out there from your 16th birthday."
"I AM 27, dude!"
After a moment of silence, Joe shook his head. "Right- right, I listen. I know, don't ask Super Macho Man about his age- hah!" For once, a more genuine laugh. "Pardon, I suppose I'm just trying to find someone like me." He's not going to get that with Super Macho Man. He's going to get that with everybody except for Super Macho Man.
"...No dude, I getcha'." Silence was finally broken, and Joe's attention was caught well enough for him to look up at the other.
"You do?"
"People lose interest in others as soon as they reach, like, 30 or something. It's not your fault - well, aside from you sucking in the ring - but ya man Macho knows you'd find more fans if your wrinkles disappeared to make you look 10 years younger!"
With another pat on the back after the backhanded compliment, this one felt less enthusiastic. Macho's tone in voice had barely changed, but something was bothering him as well.
"Did that happen to you?"
And without attempting to lie this time, Macho Man sighed deeply, giving up, before continuing. "Lemme lend you in on another secret; I'm not in my 20s, dude. Sure, my career started 11 years ago, but I was no grom! If I'm not out here faking my age, people certainly wouldn't pay attention to this face!"
His tone went from thoughtful and almost depressed to his usual Macho charm, but the lack of movement with his arms confirmed that it wasn't as okay as he tried to make it out to be. "That's just how it is in life! Hey dude, what's that thing you frenchies say? C'est la vie or something?"
Despite the topic going downward, Joe found time to let out a laugh. "I think you use it more than us. But…" He sighed. "It really is life. Everyone else here is successful, and younger than me. Than us?"
"Than us." Macho Man agreed. "But don't tell anyone that, 'cuz this strength ain't bogus!" He let out a laugh to lighten the mood, flexing his toned muscles.
That was more like a threat. Not that Joe planned on revealing the truth about Super Macho Man anytime soon, but now he certainly wouldn't even think the thought. "I won't say anything. But… I am curious- You don't think about it too much during the night?"
Another pause, and then a sigh from Macho Man as he ran a hand through his grey hair. "Of course I do, bro. You've seen me trying to keep looking young. The black hair and sun screen wasn't because I wanted to, dude!"
Joe letting his guard down seemed to have caused a domino effect in the other. He was well aware he had just wandered in to interrupt Macho before a match only to bring the mood down, but sometimes you just need to air your thoughts. And sometimes you can bond over them.
"Right- right. It's like when I tried to bleach my hair- hah!" Joe let out a sharp laugh. "Sometimes you're desperate for some attention."
Macho fell into a short silence, leaning his back against the lockers that were propped up in a row behind their bench. All this talk about staying young, keeping one's fame, finding ways to secure your money - in what Joe assumed to be the start of a bond, turned out to have accidentally opened a floodgate. Macho was oddly quiet, and Joe could of course assume the worst in a time like this, and laugh awkwardly in its face.
"...Pardon for interrupting you with this kind of ta-"
"I'm 57."
Dead silence. At first, the words didn't even pass though Joe's head. Everything froze up, including the half laugh-half talking expression Joe got frozen in the middle of.
"...Quoi?"
"Yea, you heard me." Macho didn't sound upset at least, just… emotionless. He slumped backwards, head looking up at the roof and letting himself ramble a little. The lack of usual enthusiasm with his 80s surfer slang certainly made an uncomfortable combination, but Macho still got his word across.
"Don't go feeding into the rumours. Course, I don't suspect a dude like you to be a troublemaker, but ya never know!" Macho was trying to stay serious, yet keep the fan favourite voice and tone. Leaning forward, he looked around the corner of the lockers before continuing. "Looking my age is easy when everyone knows you already have an addiction to tanning! But I know they talk about it; and all those cute ladies? Of course they don't want some grody old guy around! Don Flamenco is already stealing my girls."
At first, Joe wrinkled his nose a little. He had never been one too interested in dating, but if it was this competitive it might be for the better. "But they're not why you lie about your age, right?"
"Course not, dude. It's complicated, I guess." Macho sighed. "Even if it was, I drop the date after going out once or twice."
Not understanding if Macho was simply having similar issues with bonding with his dates, or if he truly treated said dates like flies, Joe decided to try and drop the topic as soon as it came up. It's not like he could help anyway. "...So 30 years older?"
Macho nodded. "The management thinks it's pretty lame, with all the papers and whatever. I think it's pretty lame that I have to do this in the first place!"
"But wouldn't people be able to track your life and age down easily?"
"Not as long as I stay with my stage name! Tell me, Joseph; what's my name?"
For the first time in the last couple of minutes, Macho was giving the other a smirk. He knew Joe couldn't answer that, and he was very much correct.
"No idea."
An uncharacterized small huff, almost resembling a laugh, came from Macho before he leaned back against the lockers. "Like I said, there's lots of papers and stuff. I don't handle them, only shutting the news up when they think they got some new gossip."
Joe nodded in silence. He had his own issues, and though the root of it was similar, Macho had avoided it thanks to the things Joe wished he had himself. It was a little ironic, actually.
"Remind me why we're talking about this deep stuff-" He eventually wheezed, placing a hand on his forehead. No, he wasn't sick. Just nervous.
Macho stayed silent too for a moment. "No idea, dude. You kinda started it!"
"Right." Joe wheezed a laugh back. "I did. Apologizes."
Macho stayed leaning against the lockers for a moment, before sitting straight up. "You better be! I have a match coming up!"
Shit, he did? Yeah, why else would Macho be here, ready to step out and punch some challenger in the face. "...Apologizes." Joe repeated, sighing. "Who are you up against?"
Macho laughed shortly, grinning against the weaker boxer. "Some kid from the Bronx. The other boxers must've played it nice to allow him to face me!"
A kid… from the Bronx… Joe swallowed, remembering his 100th loss. But instead of warning the other, Joe just nodded.
"You usually win." He commented. "No way you'll lose against some teenager." Was he trying to bring Macho his confidence back? Yeah. It felt like the right thing to do.
"I do, bro!" And just like that, Macho flashed a big toothy grin. "I don't play nice! If he wants me to knock him so hard he'll hear the beach waves indoors, I will!"
That got a genuine laugh out of Joe, who threw his head forward before shaking his head. "Sounds about right."
The clock rang to signal the attendance of the boxers. Macho got up from his seat, giving a nod towards the younger man. "Know we don't talk much, but guess I gotta say thank ya? Yeah. It was nice." Even if it was a bit depressing.
Joe nodded in agreement. "Merci."
And so, Super Macho Man left the locker room to walk out to the mat. Joe couldn't help but follow him some metres behind, only watching from the end of the locker rooms. The audience filled with cheers when the celebrity walked up to flex his muscles, but also when the much younger boxer entered without much of an entry.
The bell rang. Macho quickly got a punch to his face, and after a minute he was down to the mat for the first time.
Looks like Super Macho Man's fake age couldn't save him now.